Nothing Else Matters
by Renfair
Summary: Severus Snape once spied for the Order of the Phoenix because he had nothing to lose. Following the Dark Lord's resurrection, he finds himself once more walking a knife edge, this time to protect everything he has gained. Sequel to The Dream of One Night
1. Chapter One: AVRILLE

CHAPTER ONE

_Avrille_

"Not _again_, Char! How many times does Mummy have to tell you that Daddy's bookcases are not your roost!"

Hi. My name's Avrille, and I'm the mother of a baby dragon. Ok, he's actually an eighteen-month-old little boy, but for all intents and purposes, he might as well be a dragon for the amount of time I spend rescuing him from his own mischief. I don't know if it was the double dose of having an extra powerful witch and extremely well-learned wizard for parents, but I swore there couldn't have ever been a baby more attracted to trouble than my son.

His father and my husband, Severus Snape, is regarded by many to be one of the most powerful and educated wizards of his generation in England. He is currently wrapping up his fourteenth year as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Potions master. We met nearly three years ago after I left my home in Nova Scotia behind to begin my own teaching apprenticeship under his tutelage—which the conception of Char cleanly brought an end to a couple months before its completion. My own powers are certainly nothing to sniff at. Perhaps by some genetic anomaly, I was born with magical potential vastly greater than the average witch. However, trauma I suffered as a child suppressed my powers to the extent that I couldn't even use magic consciously until Severus helped me face the ghosts of my past right before I became pregnant. It was fortunate indeed that he had been able to restore my magic to me, for the night we made Char, Severus fell victim to a Death Wish curse that had been placed on him by his father years before. Severus barely escaped the ordeal with his sanity and came extremely close to losing his life. But that's another story. I was talking about my little firecracker of a child.

"Char" was actually born Armand Charles Snape after my own father, who was murdered when I was nine, and Severus's mother, Charlotte, who also tragically died far too young. However, a mere few days after his birth, Severus and I decided his name really didn't fit his personality. Both my father and Severus's mother were quiet, subdued adults, nothing like our tiny newborn son who spent every awake moment actively gazing around at his new surroundings with keen alertness. Within two weeks, baby Armand became so frustrated being stuck on his tummy during playtime that he rolled himself right over onto his back. He kept hitting all of his milestones early after that, giving us no peace since once he mastered one, he immediately began work on the next. Severus eventually had to cast a very mild Sleeping Charm on our son after three straight weeks of being woken up every hour by frantic yelling next to our bed from our overachieving baby pulling to stand in his crib and not being able to get himself back down.

His nickname came about when he was about six months old. For the past few weeks, he had begun some serious teething and was only somewhat happy when gnawing on his wooden teether rings. Hearing his ferocious growling as he gummed furiously at his toys, Severus remarked that he sounded like a newborn dragon he had seen once at a preserve. The name Char came up after that, and he's been lovingly called so ever since. Little did we know he'd also end up spending so much time flying through the air. Case in point, he was currently once more soaring back down to the ground as I levitated him off from the top shelf of one of my husband's many bookcases in his rooms in the dungeons of the school.

Char threw his head back and laughed uproariously as he gently glided through the air back down onto the carpet. I swear he climbed so high intentionally just so I would have to use magic to bring him down. Toddlers really shouldn't be allowed to be so strong, or so cunning, for that matter, but mine certainly was.

"Can we _please_ get you dressed, now?" I asked him, trying very hard to keep my mounting frustration out of my voice. I knew Severus would be wondering where we were, and I hated to keep him waiting. He had already left the castle directly after dinner to escort his Slytherin students down to the school's Quidditch pitch. Hogwarts was hosting the newly reinstated Triwizard Tournament this year, and tonight the champions would be completing their third and last task. It would soon be nearing Char's bedtime, but I thought he might enjoy watching the final task since he loved being around the students (not to mention he always slept better after an outing, as well). I knew once I got him out into the fresh, summer evening air he'd stop being so fussy, but the universe seemed to be conspiring against me meeting Severus on time. A rare lapse in Char's potty training had meant a quick bath was in order. While I was distracted conjuring a clean outfit for him out of his room in our cottage in Hogsmeade, Char had thrown aside his towel and scaled Severus's bookcases, stark naked like a wild child from the Amazon.

Char giggled mischievously once more as his head popped through the neck hole of his robes, his long black hair, still slightly damp from the bath, messily tousled. To show school spirit, I had bought a set of student robes from Gladrags and shrunk them with a charm to fit Char. I knew there was no way his green and silver tie would stay on longer than two minutes, so I simply let Char swing it around while I tied his shoes. With my wand I quickly shot some hot air over his hair to dry it, then ran my fingers through it to help it lie flat again.

Finally we were ready to go. Hoisting Char up on my hip, I climbed the stairs out of the dungeon as quickly as I could and hurried out through the deserted entrance hall. As soon as I rounded the corner of the castle outside, a roar of sound washed over me across the grounds from the Quidditch pitch. It seemed like the final task was already getting underway. I could hear Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice speaking to the crowd, though the distance muffled the words beyond comprehensibility. I swung Char over onto my other hip and picked up my pace across the immaculate lawns. It really couldn't have been a better night for the conclusion of the tournament. An unusually hot day had left the twilight air heavy with the scent of warm grass. A gentle breeze off the lake was gently rustling the leaves of the Forbidden Forest and teasing small strands of hair from my bun to blow around my face. The first stars were just twinkling to life in the magenta-splashed violet sky above.

As I passed through a side gate into the Quidditch pitch, another wave of exuberant cheering hit me. I looked up at the stands across from me and saw the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students were all on their feet, waving banners in support of their respective champions. However, the sight of them soon vanished as I moved along the edge of the pitch, the towering leafy walls of the task's giant hedge maze effectively blocking the view of the rest of the stadium. From a herbologist's perspective, I noted with interest that up close the maze hedges themselves were not as innocent as they had appeared from far away near the castle. A quick, cautious inspection revealed innumerable vines of midnight jasmine and climbing nightshade to be interwoven with the innocuous English ivy base. I wondered whether these plants had been chosen on purpose to add yet another element of danger to the final task or if they had simply been selected in ignorance on the basis of their beautiful, night-blooming blossoms. Either way, I made sure to keep well clear of them as I hurried onwards.

As I approached the stands near the main gate of the stadium, where the entrance to the maze as well as the teachers' seats were located, I passed Professor Moody slowly strolling along an outer maze wall, his wooden leg making his pace jerky across the uneven ground. Though he was in the dark shadow of the maze wall, the red star he was wearing on his hat signifying his role as one of the maze patrollers cast the rough contours of his scarred face in a garish light. He had had his wand out but was stowing it back into one of the inner pockets of his coat. He jerked his head curtly at me as I passed with Char. I politely returned his nod with one of my own, noticing and being slightly annoyed by the suspicious squint of his one normal eye.

Though I respected every teacher at Hogwarts and genuinely cared for most of them, having worked and lived among them for nearly a year, I had never taken to Alastor Moody. I knew he had done invaluable work as an Auror rounding up the followers of the Dark Lord years ago, but his continued distrust of Severus really rubbed me the wrong way. For his part, Severus still hadn't forgiven Professor Moody for daring to search his office when he began his tenure as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and lying that he had been given permission from Professor Dumbledore to do so.

Leaving Professor Moody behind and turning another corner to finally come out near the front of the maze, I quickly spotted Severus sitting in one of the first few rows next to my good friend Lavinia Sinistra, Hogwarts's Astronomy teacher. I noticed with exasperation that, as usual, they each seemed to be pointedly ignoring the other's proximity. I had hoped that my marrying Severus would make them at least cordial to each other, but Lavinia still thought Severus was thoroughly unpleasant and dull, while he considered her to be a downright flake.

As I approached the stands, I passed Professor Dumbledore, who was speaking with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. The headmaster did not pause his conversation, but he did smile warmly at us and gave Char a little wave, which Char enthusiastically returned with one of his own. Professor Dumbledore chuckled then turned back to Mr. Fudge. Several other people were milling around the space between the stands and the gaping, shadowed entrance of the maze. Ludo Bagman, the tournament's Ministry officiate, was carefully eyeing a large clock situated in the middle of the arch spanning the maze entrance and comparing the time to a large, golden stopwatch he held in his hand with a jovial grin on his boyish face. The Heads of the other two schools participating in the tournament were standing by their respective champions. Madam Maxime seemed to be giving Fleur Delaceour a rousing pep talk while Fleur stretched, her large, swarthy hands gesticulating sharply through the air as she spoke rapidly in French. Professor Karkaroff was going so far as to massage Viktor Krum's shoulders, though the pair of them were stone-faced and silent.

I climbed the few wooden stairs to the third row of seating and carefully picked my way past several Hogwarts instructors and the dozen or so Beauxbatons students who had remained at the school to support Fleur when their own names hadn't come out of the Goblet of Fire. Severus stood when I reached him and took Char from me so I could settle myself.

"What kept you?" he asked, sitting back down with Char on his lap. Char immediately began rummaging through Severus's pockets to try and find his wand.

"Oh, the usual combination of bodily fluids and inopportune moments," I replied, slightly out of breath from the long walk. Char was small for his age, but far from weightless. I could have easily lightened him with magic, of course, yet hadn't, figuring I could use a bit of exercise. Nursing for over a year had fortunately melted the baby weight from me with very little effort on my part, but that didn't mean I was in shape.

"I could have done without that, thank you," Lavinia said dryly, her hand paused in midair as she was about to eat a handful of popcorn.

"Just you wait," I replied, ominously gesturing to the small swell of her belly beneath her robes. Lavinia had finally married her boyfriend the previous summer and was currently due to receive her own bundle of explosive bodily fluids in early October.

"Yes, but _she_ won't be able to aim at me, at least," Lavinia said smugly, rooting around the bottom of her popcorn carton for another, kernel-less handful.

"Henry wasn't able to make it?" I asked her, looking around the stands for other familiar faces, waving when I made eye-contact with one. Lavinia shook her head, making her long black braid, even thicker than usual from her pregnancy, swing back and forth across her back.

"No, the shop received a rush order this afternoon for custom-cut dress robes. The amount he'll make in commission far outweighs the need for him to sit here and stare at a lot of hedges, in my mind."

I agreed with Lavinia on that part. So far, only the first task of the tournament had provided the spectators with anything to actually watch. I personally skipped the second task all together when Severus had informed me that it would involve sitting outside in February and staring at the surface of the lake for an hour.

"Did I miss anything important?" I asked Severus, pointedly removing his wand from Char's grabby hands and handing it back to him with a stern look after scooching our son back onto my own lap. Severus thought it was highly amusing to allow Char to play with his wand in the hopes he might do some magic by accident. However, knowing all of the magical mischief _I_ had gotten into accidentally as a child, I didn't think that was something Severus and I needed to be actively encouraging with Char. To curb Char's instant sniffles at the removal of his "toy," I conjured his teddy for him to play with instead.

"Since Diggory and Potter were leading with points, they already entered," Severus said while stashing his wand into a deeper pocket of his school-robes. He looked up and gestured to the maze entrance. "Krum's going now."

Sure enough, with a trill of Ludo Bagman's whistle, Viktor Krum rushed into the maze with his wand at the ready. Once he was in, Fleur Delaceour moved into position between the two ivy-laced columns flanking the entrance, jumping in place to keep her muscles warm. His champion having vanished into the leafy expanse, Professor Karkaroff returned to the stands himself and settled amongst his other students directly in front of Severus and me. Karkaroff's eyes met Severus's before he sat, though he quickly glanced away from my husband's narrowed stare. I unconsciously hugged Char a little tighter. I certainly didn't trust Karkaroff, not after Severus informed me earlier in the year of his role as a former Death Eater himself. The man had never spoken to me, and I was happy to keep things that way.

I conjured a few more of Char's toys for him, but at the moment he was happy looking around excitedly at all the new people and listening to the cheerful noise of the brass band. Even though the Hogwarts champions had already begun their task, the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students had yet to sit back down on their benches and seemed determine to outshout Krum's schoolmates, who were chanting roughly in Bulgarian for him. The Beauxbaton students were the only ones completely quiet and several kept looking down their noses and sniffing disdainfully at the coarser Durmstrang boys.

"So, there's been nothing fishy at all?" I asked Severus quietly, leaning into him, though I probably needn't have bothered since the cheering of the Slytherins behind us for Krum on top of the Durmstrangs' rhythmic shouts made it unlikely we would be overheard. Severus had confided in me at the beginning of the school year that it was likely some other party had put Harry Potter's name into the Goblet of Fire in hopes of causing him harm. However, I wasn't sure how many of the staff members Professor Dumbledore had mentioned his suspicions to, like Lavinia for example, so I thought it best to be rather circumspect.

Severus shook his head, an eyebrow just the slightest bit raised in annoyance at the noise surrounding us. "All of the imported beasts were well within Ministry regulations, and no other obstacle should be beyond N.E.W.T. standard. Moody himself brought the Triwizard Cup into the center of the maze and for once seemed satisfied things were in order," he said with an irritated sneer.

A final whistle blast from Ludo Bagman brought my attention to the maze entrance in time to see the silvery tail ends of Fleur's hair whip around a leafy corner. All four champions were now inside. Now there wasn't much to do except sit back (though not literally or else you'd probably fall off of the bench) and wait until someone emerged victorious—or incapacitated. Their various duties fulfilled for the moment, the adults milling around the grass by the entrance wandered off into other areas of the pitch.

Perhaps unable to physically fit in the stands, Madam Maxime retired to a large, comfortable-looking chair she conjured slightly to the side of the area we were currently sitting with the rest of the staff to be near her Beauxbaton students. Professor Dumbledore had finished his conversation with Cornelius Fudge and moved to stand next to her, the top of his pointed hat just barely in line with her high, coiled bun even though she was sitting. The Minister meandered with a long-practiced, politically-serving nonchalance to where a group of reporters and photographers had gathered. Severus informed me that two of the reporters, a man and woman both smartly dressed in conservative business-robes, were from the _Daily Prophet,_ while the two others, both men wearing robes that were certainly more fashionable but still in need of a good pressing, represented the tabloid rag, _The Moon_. Fudge pointedly ignored the two _Moon_ reporters and immediately struck up a conversation with the _Daily Prophet_ staff, waving to Ludo Bagman to come join him.

A good twenty minutes passed uneventfully. The novelty of the atmosphere having worn off for the most part, Char began to squirm on my lap and pushing away the toys he had until that moment been happy playing with. Lavinia offered to take him for a while since I wasn't about to let him run around on the grass when who-knows-what was currently slinking through the maze a dozen feet away. Fortunately Char was small since Lavinia didn't have quite the lap space she normally did. Taking out her wand, Lavinia delicately drew an illusory solar system in the air and set it to orbit around Char's head. I wasn't sure exactly which solar system it was supposed to be, since I was fairly sure ours didn't have any planets that were a pulsing purple or glowing gold with four silver rings, but it was stunning nevertheless.

Char instantly stopped trying to vault Lavinia's shoulders and sat quietly, completely engrossed by the twinkling dwarf stars and rotating moons as they passed in front of his eyes. With a sigh I took Severus's hand in mine, silently wondering if Char would ever be contented to simply sit reading a book when he was constantly being entertained by such powerful witches and wizards. Severus gave me a side-long look and a small, knowing smile as he squeezed my hand a little tighter.

"How did the final day of exams go for the—" I started to ask Severus when a shrill scream from within the maze silenced me. It had to have been Fleur, the shriek being much too high-pitched to have been made by one the boys. Everyone in the stands seemed to freeze mid-motion for a moment but then slowly resumed their former conversations or cheering when neither a second scream was heard nor the signal of red rescue sparks appeared. Had Fleur simply been scared by something, or was she truly in trouble? Severus and Lavinia didn't seemed concerned by it at all. Severus had let go of my hand to tell off several of the younger Slytherin boys, who had started to rough-house behind us, and Lavinia was busy concentrating on forming new and interesting constellations for Char. Maybe I was just extra sensitive to the thought of one of the champions getting hurt, being a relatively new mom and all.

Another fifteen minutes dragged by without any further disturbances from the maze. I wondered how much time this task was expected to take. Surely it couldn't be much longer until someone got to the center? I was growing rather uncomfortable sitting on the hard wooden bench, and mentally pondered if it would be silly to conjure a cushion or something. Thankfully, Lavinia was still keeping Char's attention firmly fixated by making several of the imitation stars supernova, my son clapping joyfully each time one of the gaseous orbs swelled with a nearly blinding light before disappearing with a sharp pop. A single, quelling glare of his earlier being enough to keep the excited Slytherins in order, Severus and I were at least able to catch up a bit with each other. I had barely seen Severus all week since he had been spending almost every evening shut up in his office grading exams and evaluating the final projects of his graduating N.E.W.T. students.

Our conversation was brought to a sudden halt by more sounds of distress from the maze. But unlike Fleur's single shriek earlier, these screams were obviously coming from one of the male champions, and they didn't stop. Hearing them, a rush of adrenaline shot through me, and my maternal instincts forced me to double check that Char was safe beside me, even though, logically, I obviously knew he was. This wasn't just someone crying out from being startled by one of the monsters. If I didn't know better, I would think one of the boys in the maze was currently being tortured.

"What the _hell_ do you think is going _on_ in there?" I exclaimed to Severus as the screams increased in intensity for a moment before abruptly cutting off.

Severus shook his head wordlessly. Like me, he had disapproved of the Ministry's decision to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament the moment it was announced in the annual staff meeting held the week before the school year resumed. For my part, I didn't see how a competition that involved pitting teenagers against full-grown, nesting dragons could ever be made completely safe. Perhaps it was just my more conservative sensibilities now that I was a mother, but it was my belief that the tournament had been banned in the past for a damned good reason. Severus's own motives for not supporting the tournament were rather different from mine. He was mostly annoyed at how the school-year-long event was going to interfere with his always carefully mapped-out lesson plans, now that he'd have to be teaching several dozen foreign students of varying proficiency of Potions work mixed into his regular N.E.W.T. classes. Of course he was concerned with the safety of the students as well, but he had commented to me that he would personally be utterly ashamed if the Hogwarts champion hadn't learned enough by his or her sixth year at the school to be unable to outwit a simple dragon.

A shrill whistling and bang preceded a sudden shower of red sparks above the maze. Char laughed and pointed delightedly as the shimmering dots of crimson light crackled into puffs of grey smoke against the darkening sky. As the smoke blew away, a single red star remained fixed and rotating slowly above the maze. I didn't share Char's excitement at viewing the impromptu fireworks, wondering with anxiety which student was in trouble. Lavinia seemed to share my concern finally, having dissolved her astronomy spell to instead stare up at the newest star in the sky with knit brows. I tried not to think the worst, remembering that whoever had sent up the sparks was obviously not so in danger that they weren't able to call for help. I just hoped one of the patrolling professors reached him quickly.

Tense minutes passed without any rescuer or student emerging. Finally, when I was just starting to wonder if whatever had given the desperate champion reason to send up sparks was perhaps so dangerous that the patrolling staff member could be in trouble as well, Professor McGonagall appeared, walking briskly out of the maze with Fleur unconscious beside her on a levitating stretcher. Professor McGonagall headed straight for the small medical pavilion Madam Pomfrey had erected to one side of the pitch, the nurse herself hurrying over to meet the deputy headmistress and tend to Fleur. Madam Maxime had leapt out of her chair at the sight of her student's reappearance, and she hurried over, forming part of a large swarm converging on the first defeated champion. Along with Madam Maxime, Professor Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge, and Ludo Bagman all made their way to the medical tent along with, not surprisingly, all of the newspaper reporters and photographers. According to Lavinia, Fleur's uncommon beauty had made her a permanent fixture of the gossip columns lately. Not that I would know; I personally preferred the crossword.

Madam Pomfrey instantly enlisted the help of Professor McGonagall to shoo away any non-essential personnel, which meant everyone besides Madam Maxime and Fleur's parents—even Professor Dumbledore—was unceremoniously escorted to one side so the nurse would have room to work. Yet even though the crowd had mostly dispersed, Madam Maxime's ample figure was blocking my view of Fleur on her stretcher. I craned my neck slightly, though I knew there was no way I could see past her unless I put on a pair of stilts. I did notice, however, that the warning star was still rotating slowly in its fixed place above the maze, casting that section of hedges in a deceptively warm red light. Did that mean another champion had been in need of rescuing, and Fleur had been found accidentally as a by-product of that search? And why was it taking so long for Madam Pomfrey, who was an expert Healer, to revive Fleur? I felt the little sting of adrenaline shoot through me again as minutes ticked past without another set of patroller with champion appearing.

Severus was stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, drawing my attention to the fact that I was probably squashing him with my tensed grip. He was never overtly intimate with me when we were out in public, and certainly not while surrounded by his students, but I still loved it when he did little, hidden things like that when he knew I was worried or upset. Taking a deep breath to calm down a bit, I relaxed my hold and interlaced my fingers with his. Severus smiled at me slightly as I did so, obviously appreciating having the feeling return to his hand. Finally after a while, Madam Maxime stepped to a side, and I could see Fleur had finally been brought back to consciousness by Madam Pomfrey, who was placing a short wooden stool on the ground. Just as Fleur scooted unsteadily onto the seat, Severus suddenly squeezed _my_ hand painfully with a sharp intake of breath.

"Ouch! What is it?" I asked, turning to him. I was shocked to see that his face had gone frightfully pale. He did not meet my look of concern but instead locked eyes with Karkaroff, who had moved to stand near the entrance of the maze, presumably waiting to see which champion next emerged from under the red star. While Severus's face was grave, Karkaroff's had taken on an expression of sheer terror, his complexion blanching to the same sour-milk white as his hair. They continued to study each other for a beat until Karkaroff suddenly turned on his heel and began walking very quickly away from the stands back toward the gates I had entered earlier. I got the impression that he would have been full-out running if he wasn't seemingly worried about attracting too much attention.

His eyes still set hard on Karkaroff's fleeing back, Severus said quietly aside to me, barely moving his lips, "Do not return to the house tonight. Stay in my rooms in the castle and do _not_ leave the grounds, no matter what." I had never heard him speak in such a terrifying monotone before.

"What are you talking about?" I asked full of confusion, trying to make him look at me.

He finally whipped his gaze back to meet mine, his storm grey eyes flashing dangerously as he hissed fiercely, "_Do as I say!_" He pulled his hand from mine, stood up, and began pushing his way roughly past the Beauxbaton students, who shot him surly looks once he was through.

"What was that about?" Lavinia asked with a raised eyebrow, still bouncing Char on what little lap she had left.

"I have no idea," I replied, shaking my head as I saw Severus take the few stairs down as one and hurry across the grass so quickly his robes billowed out behind him. However, he didn't head after Karkaroff as I had expected him to. Instead, he veered toward the entrance to the maze and stopped in front of Professor Dumbledore, who was kneeling with Madam Maxime next to Fleur as she sat on her stool while Madam Pomfrey held an icepack to her forehead. Severus touched Professor Dumbledore on the shoulder and muttered something in his ear. The headmaster then stood with a worried expression on his face and followed Severus to a more secluded area so as to not be overheard. I watched as Severus whispered something to him, after which Professor Dumbledore took Severus's shoulders in both his hands and asked him a question with his eyebrows furrowed. From his body language, it seemed like he was asking Severus if he was sure about what he had just reported. Severus nodded grimly. Professor Dumbledore turned to look after where Karkaroff had fled from, then bade Severus to follow him as he walked over to Professor McGonagall. The three of them then dissolved into an intense discussion, Professor Dumbledore seemingly issuing several instructions to the other two.

My attention was pulled back when Char tugged on my sleeve saying, "Mama! Mama!" I reached out to take him back into my arms and tried to hide my worry with a big smile for my boy. A small group of seventh year Slytherin girls clambered down behind us and two of them plopped down into the space on the bench Severus had just vacated.

"Can we please play with little Char, Mrs. Snape?" Katrina Shepherd, who was this year's Head Girl, asked me. I guessed that they'd wanted to see him for a while but had been too intimidated by Severus's presence to ask, even though he was their Head of House.

"Of course," I replied with a smile and tentatively held Char out to her in case he was shy and didn't want to go. But apparently Char was feeling flirty, since he jumped right into Katrina's open arms.

"Oh, look at his cute, teensy robes!" the other girl, Anya Sorensen, squealed in delight.

Char still seemed happy with the hand-off, and Katrina started to amuse him by charming his teddy bear to skip rope with his Slytherin tie on his lap. I was actually glad of the extra sets of hands so I could focus once again on what was going on with Severus. He was still listening with rapt attention to whatever it was Professor Dumbledore was telling him and Professor McGonagall.

"I don't like this," I said quietly to Lavinia, shaking my head. Lavinia made a small noise of agreement, and our thoughts were solidified a moment later when we saw Hagrid emerge from the maze carrying the limp form of Viktor Krum. Nearly every Hogwarts student jumped to their feet cheering and waving banners at Viktor's apparent disqualification; a win for Hogwarts was in the bag now. However, the sight of another unconscious champion simply reinforced my growing belief that something sinister had happened with the third task, without anyone seeming to notice.

Hagrid laid Viktor down gently on the grass and looked around, presumably for the boy's headmaster. Of course Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen, and Hagrid let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw Madam Pomfrey leave Fleur's side and hurry toward them. Professor Dumbledore broke away from Professor McGonagall and Severus to also attend to Viktor, who was just waking up when the headmaster reached him. Viktor sat up on the grass and jostled his head several times as though trying to shake water from his ear. Professor Dumbledore asked Viktor several questions, each of which Viktor replied with a simple shake of his head. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused, and he didn't seem to quite know what was going on. The Durmstrang students in front of me were muttering to each other angrily while shooting dirty looks at the still cheering Hogwarts students surrounding them.

When she saw Viktor was conscious, Fleur jumped up off of her stool and strode furiously towards him, Madam Maxime following closely behind trying to get her to sit back down. Fleur's normally perfect complexion was blotchy with rage as she descended upon her fellow champion, screaming at him in French. After a moment she seemed to realize Viktor had no idea what she was saying (though, judging by his appearance, I don't think he would have understood her at the moment even if she was speaking fluent Bulgarian), and she switched to English. She was screeching so loudly that I had no problem hearing every word.

"'E cursed me! Behind my back! Eez this 'ow zey teach you at Durmstrang? We would never stoop so low as to use Unforgiveable Curses at Beauxbaton! Our honour eez everything to us! 'Ow dare you!" She looked about ready to punch Viktor in the face, so Madam Maxime reached out one large arm and pulled Fleur to her and away from Viktor. He still seemed completely out of it and didn't react at all to Fleur's outburst. He simply lay back down on the grass and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. I wondered if what Fleur had accused him of was true. Had Viktor really attacked her in the maze? He had always seemed like a decent kid, but who really could tell with Karkaroff for a headmaster?

Madam Pomfrey had now conjured a potion and was trying to get Fleur to drink it, presumably to calm her down. She refused and strode back over to her stool to continue her angry dialogue with Madam Maxime. Madam Pomfrey shook her head and resumed ministrations on Viktor instead, shining her wand tip into his eyes to try and make him follow the light.

I kept attempting to catch Severus's eye, hoping he'd come back and tell me what the hell was going on. I knew the Triwizard Tournament was dangerous, but it seemed like the events unfolding tonight were worse than what should be expected. I also wondered when Karkaroff was going to return and tend to his student and perhaps answer the accusations against him. Madam Maxime seemed to be wondering the exact same thing, for she had left Fleur's side and was loudly and passionately demanding Professor Dumbledore tell her where Karkaroff had gone.

At least Char was happy and content, even though his bedtime had long ago come and gone. He was greatly enjoying the attention being showered on him by the slowly growing swarm of cooing Slytherin girls. One of them had shrunk a "Support Cedric Diggory" badge and had pinned it to the front of Char's robes while he happily waved around a small flag with the Hogwarts crest on it.

As the minutes ticked by, each of the teachers near the maze began to look increasingly anxious. The only person who didn't seem concerned was Ludo Bagman, who was jauntily rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back while avidly staring at the maze to see who would next emerge in failure or triumph. Having calmed Madam Maxime, Professor Dumbledore was once more conferring with Professor McGonagall and Severus, though now he was attempting to bring Mr. Fudge into the conversation. Fudge seemed too busy dictating to one of the _Daily Prophet_ reporters to pay much attention to the headmaster.

I had just decided that I was going to go down and find out for myself what was going on, when out of nowhere Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory suddenly appeared on the ground in front of the entrance to the maze. Harry had been grasping the Triwizard Cup, which shone blue for a moment before rolling away from him as he collapsed on top of Cedric. Cedric was lying motionless beneath him, apparently knocked out like Fleur and Viktor had been. The nearby teachers and reporters descended upon the pair, and the huddle effectively blocked them from view. At Harry and Cedric's reappearance, the triumphant cheers of the Hogwarts students became so deafening that poor Char broke into tears. One of the Slytherin girls quickly held him to me, and I brought him back onto my lap where he buried his face in my chest with gulping, hiccupping sobs. I quickly cast a very small Silencing Charm around him, which helped calm him down almost immediately. Looking back up at the bustle surrounding the final two champions to appear, I saw Professor Dumbledore had dispersed most of the crowd and was on his knees next to Harry, trying to get him to his feet so Madam Pomfrey could reach Cedric on his other side. However, Harry kept pulling his shoulders out of the headmaster's grasp and falling back on top of Cedric and hanging on for dear life like the older boy was a raft in the wide open sea.

Professor Dumbledore spoke quietly to Harry and seemed to finally convince him to release Cedric so he could be tended to. Professor Moody, who had limped into view from the maze when the two boys appeared, bent down and none-too-gently hoisted Harry to his feet, clasping him to his side since Harry seemed unable to fully support his own weight. With Harry held firmly up with one arm, Moody began to lead him away from the maze back in the direction of the castle, no doubt to bring him to the hospital wing. No one else seemed to notice the pair limping away since the main focus had returned to Cedric, who had yet to reawaken. Severus, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick, who had just re-emerged from the maze himself, were trying to keep the rush of reporters and Cedric's Hufflepuff housemates back to give Madam Pomfrey room to work.

On the ground, Madam Pomfrey was still trying to revive Cedric with her wand. With an increasingly deepening frown, she finally placed her left hand shakily on Cedric's throat. With a horrified expression and wide eyes, she looked mutely at Professor Dumbledore, still kneeling beside her, and almost imperceptibly shook her head. Professor Dumbledore put down his own drawn wand and placed one hand on Cedric's chest and the other on his throat as well. With a mournful look, he turned towards the stands to where the families of the champions were seated, and his face fell further when he saw Cedric's mother and father were trying to force their way desperately past the celebrating hordes of Gryffindor students now on their feet and blocking the stairway down.

Lavinia seemed to have noticed Professor Dumbledore's and Madam Pomfrey's expressions as well, for she grabbed my arm and muttered, "Oh my God …" The rest of the audience seemed oblivious to what was happening around Cedric. The brass band had resumed play once more, a cheery polka rendition of the Hogwarts' school song adding to the chaotic cacophony of celebration.

Professor Dumbledore said a few words to Madam Pomfrey, rose to his feet, and took several brisk steps in the direction of Cedric's parents before stopping suddenly. He looked around himself wildly, and I could just barely make out over the din his cries of, "Harry! Where's Harry?"

After a survey of the crowd with his piercing blue eyes failed to reveal Harry's location, Professor Dumbledore called Severus and Professor McGonagall to him, and the three of them broke into a run away from the crowd back towards the school. Severus shot me a brief look over his shoulder before he disappeared behind the corner of the maze.

A shrill scream of heart-wrenching agony cut through the celebratory sounds like a steel blade. Cedric's parents had finally forced their way through the crowd and fallen to their knees beside their son. Madam Pomfrey was speaking to Mr. Diggory with tears running down her cheeks while Mrs. Diggory shook Cedric's lifeless shoulders, screaming his name hysterically. I felt tears stinging my own eyes watching the Diggorys' incomprehensible grief and hugged Char more tightly against me. The Silencing Charm had helped lull him to sleep, and he snuggled his face into my neck.

"We need to do something," Lavinia said, jumping to her feet. The news that Cedric was dead was quickly spreading through the stands, and the growing feeling of panic amongst the students was increasingly palpable. Since no one knew the cause of death, many of the students were beginning to wonder if they themselves were in danger, perhaps from an out of control beast in the maze. The normally toughened Durmstrang students were looking around rather frantically. The absence of their headmaster left them with no one to take orders from.

I stood as well, conjured Char's baby carrier and carefully slung Char into it and around so he was on my back, arms draped over my shoulders. This time I lightened his weight slightly with my wand. Many of the students around us were now crying or holding each other mutely.

"Is he really dead? What should we do, Mrs. Snape?" Katrina asked me, her eyes wide with fear.

"I don't know," I told her as I tried to squeeze past the girls without bumping Char on the Durmstrang students in front of us. "Just wait here for the moment, and stay calm; the younger students are watching you. Gather the other prefects, and please try to keep everyone together until Professor Snape returns."

Katrina gulped and nodded nervously, but immediately turned around and began issuing orders to the two fifth-year prefects sitting behind her.

Lavinia and I took the couple stairs down and crossed the grass to where the remaining Hogwarts teachers were huddled together. I tried not to stare as we passed Cedric, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that Madam Pomfrey had conjured a white sheet and was trying to drape it over him. However, his mother was still clinging tightly to his body just as Harry had been minutes before and refusing to let her husband pull her away. Professors Sprout, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Vector were grouped around the Minister, who was blustering furiously.

"Where has Dumbledore gone?" he demanded of Lavinia and I as we approached, as though sitting in the stands away from the action we had any better idea than he did. We wordlessly shook our heads, so he rounded on Professor Flitwick instead since he was the most senior member of staff currently present.

"You need to do something with the students!" Fudge commanded, his face an apoplectic shade of puce under his lime green bowler hat. "And all of these reporters! If news of this boy's death gets out before we're able to find the _true_ cause, it's going to look like it was the Ministry's responsibility." The faces of the professors turned ugly at his words. I knew several of them disliked Fudge and felt like he was usually more concerned with his own popularity ratings than what would best serve the magical community.

"Perhaps it would be best if we escorted the students to the Great Hall," Professor Flitwick suggested squeakily to the other teachers, with a slight, deferentially appeasing nod in Fudge's direction. "Professor Dumbledore might wish to address them and, as the Minister has said, until we know the cause of Mr. Diggory's … passing … it would be safest to keep the students in the castle together."

"Well, then, see to it!" Fudge shouted and hurried away, his pinstripe cloak flapping, to fend off the two reporters from _The Moon_, who were shamelessly trying to get photographs of Cedric's now white-draped body.

Professor Flitwick heaved a great sigh as he looked after the Minister and sadly reached up to the top of his hat to pop off the red star, which had still been glowing brightly. He stood thoughtfully for a moment, stroking his wispy moustache, then turned to Professor Sprout.

"Pomona, perhaps it would be best if you were to stay here with Cedric's parents. They will need comfort from someone who knew him well." Professor Sprout nodded as she wiped at her eyes with a dirt-smeared handkerchief, stashing it away in her robes as she headed off towards the Diggorys. Her normally jovial face shot a look of pure venom at one reporter, who looked like he wanted to approach Cedric's parents for a comment. The reporter retreated hastily from her furious wake and turned instead to chase after Madam Maxime, who was already leading her students away from the pitch back to their carriage.

"Then, if you could go round up the Hufflepuff students, Pythagora, and escort them to the Great Hall, please," Professor Flitwick said to Professor Vector. She immediately took off back towards the stands where many of the Hufflepuffs were shouting angrily at any nearby adult at the lack of explanations headed their way.

Professor Flitwick also watched her go then turned back to the rest of us. "Now, if anyone usually knows what's going through the headmaster's mind, it's Severus. Did he give you any indication as to where Professor Dumbledore might have gone, Avrille?" he asked me.

"No, I'm sorry. He seemed to know something had gone wrong, he wouldn't say what or how, but he immediately went to Professor Dumbledore just as Professor Karkaroff left the pitch …"

"—Karkaroff is gone?" Professor Flitwick interrupted, his tufty eyebrows disappearing up under the brim of his hat. Of course he had been patrolling the maze when the previous events had transpired and in the following chaos, seemed to not have noticed the absence of one of the other schools' Heads. "Then the Durmstrang students will need seeing to, as well, until he returns. Professor Hagrid, if you would be so kind. I am quite confident they will listen to you. To the Great Hall with the others for the time being, if you please." Hagrid seemed honoured by the suggestion, and his hairy face flushed bright red. I inwardly agreed that the Durmstrang students would have to be really stupid to disrespect a man about five times their size.

"O' course, Professor Flitwick, sir. Jus' lemme know when you find out how Harry is. He didn' look so good himself." Hagrid turned, shaking his great bushy head with worry, and lumbered back to where Lavinia and I had come from to shepherd the Durmstrangs.

"Speaking of our fourth champion, where has _he_ got to?" Professor Flitwick looked around once more.

"I saw Professor Moody lead Harry away back to the castle," I said. "Immediately afterwards, Professor Dumbledore went after them with Severus and Professor McGonagall."

"I see …" Professor Flitwick said, twirling his moustache again distractedly. "Well, we'll find out soon enough once we're all back up at the castle ourselves. For the rest of the students: Lavinia, if you could attend to the Gryffindors in Minerva's stead and Avrille, if it would be possible for you to gather the Slytherins, granted you are able to with the little one, of course," Professor Flitwick gestured with a smile up at Char drooling down the side of my neck. "If you could just get them to the Great Hall then feel free to head home yourself."

I shook my head. "Severus seemed adamant that I remain in the castle for the moment. I can stay in the Great Hall as long as you need me to."

"Of course, but see to your own family first, my dear," he replied. I nodded then turned back to the stands while Lavinia crossed the pitch towards the Gryffindors, and Professor Flitwick headed to address his own Ravenclaw students.

Sincerely hoping I wouldn't run into any authority issues with the Slytherins, not being an actual teacher myself, I climbed back into the stands and went directly Katrina's side. Even though I knew I had the respect due to me being their Head of House's wife, I wouldn't mind having the Head Girl backing me up, as well.

"We're all going to the Great Hall," I told her. "For now, at least. Could you help me pull together the younger students, please?"

"Of course, Mrs. Snape!" Katrina said, her auburn braid nearly whipping me across the face as she quickly turned to her housemates.

"Everyone, listen up!" she shouted in a surprisingly carrying tone. Most of the Slytherins quieted right down, though Katrina had to glare at Draco Malfoy and his friends until they fell silent as well. "Mrs. Snape's bringing us back up to the castle. If _anyone_ gives her _any_ problems, I will personally make sure _Professor_ Snape hears about it," she said fiercely.

"Um, thanks, Katrina" I said out of the corner of my mouth.

"No problem!" she replied with a smile aside at me.

"What's going on? What happened to Diggory?" Draco demanded at Katrina, trying to sound bored to cover the trace of fear in his voice.

"Like I have any idea!" she shot back. "Now move it!" Katrina clapped her hands together like a drill sergeant, and the Slytherins began to reluctantly shuffle their way along the benches toward the stairs. It took us a while to clear the pitch since the gates were bottlenecked with the other three Houses along with various spectators trying to go back up to the castle. I hoped everyone would leave the stadium quickly to allow Cedric's body to be moved peacefully and respectfully. The procession back to the castle was painfully slow. I was burning to find Severus and demand he tell me what was happening, not to mention my tired muscles were quite ready to deposit my sleeping boy safely in bed.

Finally everyone had crossed the grounds and noisily filed into the entrance hall. Though they had been instructed to continue into the Great Hall, some students from other Houses were still milling around the stairs to the higher floors, though Katrina had managed to marshal every Slytherin onward to their House table with her razor-sharp tongue. She flashed me another deceptively charming smile and waved before disappearing into the Hall herself. Now freed from the responsibility of overseeing Severus's students, I looked around frantically for any hint as to where he might have gone with the other professors. I was about to head up to the hospital wing to quickly check if they had followed Harry there, when I saw Severus himself come running up the stairs that led down into the dungeons and start to cross the cavernous foyer.

His face was still pale, and when he saw me standing near the Great Hall, he changed his trajectory and came walking hurriedly up to me instead.

"Severus, what—" I started, but he brusquely cut me off.

"—Forgive me, Avrille, but I don't have time." Looking around at the students still hanging around the entryway, he took me by the hand and pulled me into a deserted corner behind a suit of armour.

Once he was certain he wouldn't be overheard, he took hold of my arms and said quietly with his face very close to mine, "Go to my rooms. Put Char to bed, and wait for me there. Don't move until I come down to speak to you, and _do not leave the castle_." He seemed to be battling ferociously with himself whether or not to say more, even though he had just told me he couldn't.

"You're scaring me, Severus," I said. So far this evening, I was becoming accustomed to seeing panic in people's eyes, but to see a brief flash of it in my husband's normally cool and collected stare worried me even more than poor Cedric's dead body.

"I know, but I have to go. Just … wait for me. Please." Severus squeezed my arms with his hands one more time and then turned and took off.

"Get in the Great Hall!" he barked at the loitering students, who immediately ran to obey his order before he docked them House points, then he mysteriously dashed down the stairs that I knew led to the kitchens and the Hufflepuff dormitories. Shaking my head in confusion, I knew I had no choice but to follow Severus's instructions if I was to have any chance of finding out what had happened tonight.

I turned and headed down the stairs to the dungeons that Severus has just emerged from. The silence the thick stone walls incubated was such a stark contrast to the frenzied noises of the evening that I found my ears ringing slightly. The only sounds I heard were the quiet howl of a draught of air threading its way through the cracked flagstone walls and the gentle sigh of Char's breath near my ear. At the bottom of the steps, I felt slightly lightheaded and had to hold onto the cold wall beside me to steady myself. I realized that I had been unconsciously holding my breath and forced myself to take several slow inhales of the damp dungeon air. Once the spots stopped flashing in front of me, I continued down the twisting hallways into the depths of the dungeons where Severus's rooms were located. It had been a while since I had taken this route back down into castle. When Char and I came here several times a week to visit Severus during his free evenings, I usually brought us directly into his sitting room through the Floo connected to our house in Hogsmeade.

Arriving at his rooms, I unlocked the door with my wand and stepped inside. Waving the dozens of candles alight, I walked straight into the bedroom and deposited Char on the bed. Unfastening the baby carrier, I gratefully stretched my arms over my head then rolled my neck a few times to work out a kink. It had been much easier to wear Char in his carrier when he was a newborn. I knelt down beside the bed and pulled out Char's little trundle cot I stored under there for the rare nights we slept over in the castle. I briskly shook out the bedding to fluff it up, my mind only half on the tasks I was performing. I glanced up at the clock over the bedroom mantle to see that it was only just past ten. Pieces of the evening had passed so quickly while other moments had stretched out painstakingly long, so I hadn't had any idea what time it actually was.

Deciding not to risk waking Char by undressing him, I pulled off his shoes, straightened one sock that was threatening to come off, then sadly unpinned the "Support Cedric Diggory!" badge Katrina had stuck to his robes. It seemed somehow wrong to throw it away, so I simply placed it on the bedside table. Scooping Char up in my arms, I gently laid him down in bed and pulled his quilt up to his chin, making sure his teddy bear's head was above the coverlet as well. With a weary gesture, I extinguished most of the candles, leaving a single one alight to keep the darkness at bay with its small, flickering glow.

I pulled the doors to the bedroom closed behind me then dropped onto the couch in front of the fireplace after lighting a good blaze. Though it was almost summertime, that didn't keep the dungeons from being cool. At least the charms Severus cast on his own rooms kept the dampness out. I fell back against the firm back of the couch and pressed at my eyes with tensed fingertips. I wondered how long I was going to have to wait for Severus. I was slightly hungry, having decided to skip my own dinner in hopes of arriving for the third task on time, but I found myself with little desire to eat anything. My thoughts kept returning to the sight of Mrs. Diggory clutching the body of her dead son. I felt like I would never be able to stop hearing her screams of anguish echoing in my ears.

I opened my eyes, small blotches of green and yellow dancing through my vision from rubbing at them. I gazed upwards at the naked, vaulted rafters, the firelight not strong enough to completely penetrate the darkness of the cathedral ceiling. Severus was a master of his emotions. Something had happened tonight that frightened him so badly, he hadn't been able to conceal it completely from me. Even if he had somehow been prescient to Cedric's death, though disturbing, that alone certainly wasn't enough to trigger his almost violent adamance that I stay within the castle boundaries. Though, of course, he was protective of Char and me, he knew I was perfectly capable of protecting myself and our son if it came down to it. So what could have transpired that made him feel we would only be completely safe if we stayed within the boundaries of Professor Dumbledore's power?

I couldn't just sit here motionless. The wait was already driving me completely crazy. I stood and began to pace around the room, gazing at Severus's possessions and very much missing the time I had spent living here with him last year when Sirius Black had been on the loose. Of course Professor Dumbledore had suddenly declared at the end of the previous school year that Black was innocent do to some confusing story involving several unregistered Animagi, a man faking his own death, and Black being the victim of a set-up. I knew, however, that even though Severus usually trusted the headmaster without question, the fact that the explanation had come from Harry Potter and his friends, coupled with the loss of a promised Order of Merlin for his own daring capture of Black, left my husband slightly incredulous and, frankly, incredibly pissed off about the whole thing. He hadn't spoken of the matter to me since and always changed the subject when I asked if Professor Dumbledore had any news on Black's current location. The only indication that he believed any of Professor Dumbledore's claims was that Severus finally grudgingly agreed the area safe enough to buy a house in the village the previous summer, so we could have our own space separate from the school. Though I loved living at Hogwarts, I still rather wanted Char to grow up having his own room with actual sunshine in it.

I won't deny, however, that living separately from Severus this past year had been very hard. Since the horrifying episode with the Revenant, we had barely spent a night apart from each other. Being a Head of House and all the various responsibilities that role entailed meant Severus couldn't live at home with us and commute to the school as many of the other teachers had the option of doing. But at least summer break was almost upon us, and as soon as the students returned home on the train, Severus would be able to pack up and spend the entire holiday with Char and me in Hogsmeade.

I heard some quiet whimpering from the next room, so I opened the doors and peeked in. Char was half-awake, rubbing at his sleepy eyes with small fists. I rummaged around in his designated drawer in one of Severus's wardrobes for some pyjamas that our son hadn't outgrown. I would really need to rotate out the smaller things once the new school year started. Finally finding a pair that would probably only leave a couple inches of bare leg, I sat on the floor next to Char's bed and helped him to pull off his Hogwarts robes. He looked up at me blearily as I buttoned up his pyjamas and was very happy to fall back onto his pillow, grabbing firm hold of his teddy bear once he was under his covers. I tucked him in again and kissed his soft black hair that was already so long again it was nearly in his eyes.

As I left the bedroom once more, I heard Severus coming in through the other door around the corner. I pulled the bedroom door silently closed, then hurried over to my husband. Before I could open my mouth to berate him for keeping me in the dark for so long, he effectively sealed my lips shut by pulling me tightly against him and kissing me deeply. Not giving me the chance to really lose myself in his kiss, Severus pulled away suddenly and gestured toward the fire.

"We had better sit for this," he said cryptically. Holding my hand tightly in his, Severus led me towards the couch and sat down beside me. He seemed to know I was on the verge of giving him the fifth degree, for he raised the hand not holding mine to once again silence me before I even had a chance to start.

"I know you have questions, but once again, unfortunately, I have very little time. I'm supposed to be fetching the Minister for Professor Dumbledore, but I had to speak with you first because I don't know if I'll have another chance before …" he let the sentence trail, and I was fairly sure I didn't want to know what he had almost said. After hours of dying for information, looking at Severus's grave face, I suddenly had the intense wish that he remain silent and simply go with me to bed.

"There's no easy way to tell this," Severus said, shaking his head. He quickly ran a hand through his own long hair, the same inky black as Char's, several times to brush it back out of his face. I knew Severus wasn't the type to pause for dramatic effect, so he must have truly not wanted to continue. But knowing he had no choice and was running out of time, he sighed deeply before admitting, "The Dark Lord has returned."

"What do you mean, 'returned?'" I asked, my stomach suddenly feeling like someone had just dropped a hunk of ice into it.

"I mean that through a fantastically complex set of circumstances, he has obtained a new body for himself and is alive: walking, talking, and killing once again."

"Killing?" My mouth was dry, and I felt dizzy once more. I forced myself to breathe deeply even though each slow breath took incredible effort.

Severus nodded solemnly. "He murdered Cedric Diggory. The Triwizard Cup was a portkey. Diggory and Potter decided to end the task as a tie and took the cup at the same time, transporting them far from here. The Dark Lord needed Potter but not Diggory, so he was disposed of."

I held up a finger to make him slow down so my exhausted brain could catch up. "But how could the cup be a portkey? You told me Professor Moody himself—"

"That man was an imposter, a former Death Eater we all believed to be dead pretending to be Alastor Moody the entire school year with the use of Polyjuice Potion. Once again, I'm sorry, but I just don't have time to explain everything to you. But I _need_ you to understand what this means." Severus looked at me desperately, but I was trying to turn off my mind to avoid understanding just that.

"But … how can you be _sure_ he's back?"

"I'm sure," he replied, looking away from me into the fire. "I felt my Dark Mark burn during the tournament. That's why Karkaroff fled. He felt the same thing and knew what it meant. He knew that when he didn't immediately appear at the Dark Lord's side, he became a marked man."

"But you didn't appear, either!" I said, feeling true panic spread through me.

"Not yet," Severus replied simply, still avoiding my gaze. I stared at his profile, it taking me a moment to comprehend the implications of what he had just said.

"No!" I grabbed his shoulders and forced him to face me once more. "You can't possibly be considering—"

"—I have no choice, Avrille!" Severus removed my hands from his shoulders and held them so tightly in his that it actually hurt a bit. "It's a job no one else can do, and if I don't return to face him, he _will_ find me."

So many words welled within me, desperate to break loose and make him see reason. We could run away, tonight. We could go to some obscure part of the world and hide. Let someone else be a spy. Severus had already risked his life in the past, he had done his service. Why did he have to do this again? Why_ now_, when he had a child?

But I didn't say any of these thoughts. I knew deep down that if I asked him, truly begged him from the bottom of my heart, to flee with me, he would. Severus loved me more than his own life and couldn't deny me anything. But I also knew that to do so would destroy a piece of him, even if we somehow managed to escape the Dark Lord's wrath. Severus simply would not be able to live with himself if he saved his own skin and turned his back on his friends and colleagues, who would certainly be fighting for their lives. And though it made me nauseous to even think it, he was right; there simply was no one else who could do the job and possibly obtain the information he could become party to.

Severus seemed to understand why I hadn't replied yet, so he said, loosening his grip on my hands slightly. "I have to go very shortly. If I don't return …"

A stifled sob broke free from me, and I turned my face away. I couldn't let Severus see me cry when he was being so brave and needed my support. But he turned my face back toward him with a hand on my cheek, and I was unable to stop several hot tears from spilling from my eyes to run down between his fingers.

"If I don't return tonight, leave everything and take Char to your mother's house. Tell her what happened, then find some place to hide all three of you. Once you're safe, contact Professor Dumbledore, and he will make sure that our account at Gringotts is transferred to where you can have access to it. Do not come out of hiding until you are certain the Dark Lord has been defeated again, no matter how many years it takes."

I shook my head, trying desperately to control myself, but the tears kept flowing, and I was having a very difficult time not hyperventilating. "I can't do this, Severus, I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, you are!" he said sternly. "You have to be! I can't go do what must be done, I can't face _him,_ unless I'm certain that you and our son will be safe."

I nodded reluctantly, roughly wiping the tears from my face with my sleeve. Severus forced me to look him in the eyes once more.

"Swear to me, Avrille!"

With one last hiccup, I stuttered out, "I … I swear."

Severus stroked my hair and said, more gently, "I'm confident I'll be back before long. I worked very hard in the past to make myself valuable to the Dark Lord, and now with fourteen years of supposed information on Professor Dumbledore, I'm even more so. Though the Dark Lord may be inhuman, he isn't stupid. He won't let whatever anger he feels towards my late arrival get in the way of possibly obtaining that intelligence. Please try not to worry too much." I let a mirthless laugh serve as response to that absolutely ridiculous request.

Severus kissed my forehead and made as though to stand, but I pulled him back down and fiercely kissed him. Severus allowed us a moment of sweet surrender then forcibly separated himself from me. It might seem odd, but all I could think of at that moment was that it had been weeks since we had made love. Whenever we had been alone together, I had just been too exhausted or too frustrated with some trivial matter like Char throwing his dinner on the floor for the hundredth time. Now Severus was possibly going to his death, and he probably couldn't even remember the last time he had been with his wife. Before I could wallow too deep in the thought, Severus stood and hastened to the door.

"Wait!" I called after him, jumping up. "Don't you want to see Char?" Severus stopped just before reaching the door.

"I can't," he said simply, refusing to look back at me. "Tell him 'goodnight' for me." With that, he pulled the door open briskly and was gone. I pressed the fingers of one hand to my lips and dropped back onto the couch. Though I wanted to finally allow myself to cry, I found that Severus's leaving had driven me so past the point of terror and grief that I simply felt nothing. I conjured a blanket and wrapped myself up in it. Sitting silently on the couch, I stared into the fire and began to wait out the longest night of my life.

Author's Note:_Well, I finally was able to nail down my resolve and post the beginning of the story (this being the sequel I swore I would never, under any circumstances write!) I've never posted a work in progress before, so this should prove to be a novel (no pun intended) experience for me. While I expect this story to eventually be around the same length as _The Dream of One Night_, at this time I only have the first four chapters completed (but I'm working on a couple others). I wrote most of the material this past NaNoWriMo (I was able to get 30,000 words which I was very proud of) and have been able to do a little bit of writing here or there. However, I have no idea when this story will ever be finished. It took me four years of on again/off again writing to finish TDoON, and that was before I had a toddler of my own to take care of. So please be patient with me. I have most of the plot worked out in my head, but finding uninterrupted time to write is incredibly difficult at the moment. But I hope whoever decides to start reading this story at least enjoys what I've managed to do so far :) Because this is a work in progress, please feel free to leave me constructive criticism! Even just a few words of encouragement are so incredibly appreciated and really help drive me to push through my exhaustion at the end of the day and write something, even if it's only a couple hundred words.___

_All that being said, I just want to say how incredibly honored I am by the overwhelmingly positive response I've had over the years to this story's predecessor. I was petrified of putting my "baby" up online over four years ago, and I'm so glad I bit the bullet and did it. Every single review I've received is so precious to me. But enough rambling from the author! Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy the continuing story of Severus and Avrille.___

_(Just one more quick reminder: some aspects of this story will most likely not follow canon 100% since I had to deviate slightly from canon in TDoON, having written the plot before "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" came out [an obvious example being that if I end up delving into that particular book, Severus will need a different nickname, being a pure-blood in this series_:D_]. At the very least, rest assured that in the future, Severus is certainly_not _going to be left to bleed out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. But besides a couple slight deviations here or there that are bound to arise with the introduction of an OC main character [any action of hers potentially creating a butterfly effect to ripple through certain set events] this story will also run very close alongside canon like its predecessor.)_

_A final, HUGE thank you goes out to my wonderful beta, Clover Bay. Thank you so much for your support in the past as a multiple-time reader of TDoON and for your invaluable insights, ideas, corrections, and time now.___

_~Renny_

_Disclaimer_: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All original characters are products of the author, as is the premise and plot.


	2. Chapter Two: SEVERUS

CHAPTER TWO

_Severus_

The moment I had been anticipating and dreading for nearly fourteen years had finally arrived. After leaving Professor Dumbledore and Potter behind in the hospital wing, I immediately left the castle to do what I had long known the headmaster would ask of me when this time came. Fortunately all of the tournament's spectators had finally departed—the stragglers most likely driven away by Fudge's brilliant idea of summoning a Dementor to a school full of already terrified children—and I was spared having to answer any inconvenient questions as I hurried down the sloping road to the iron gates that formed both the physical and magical boundary of the school grounds. The gates clanged noisily open to allow me passage then immediately slammed shut and relocked themselves once I was on the other side. I took a moment to compose myself, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the early summer night. My thoughts kept wanting to return to tempting reminiscences of Avrille and the last kiss we had shared, but I forced it back to the task at hand. In a few frightfully short minutes, the solidarity of my mind would be the only thing standing between me and my already predetermined death sentence.

When I decided I was as ready as I was ever going to be, I shook back the left sleeve of my robes and raised my forearm, the cool night's breeze making the hairs on my bare skin stand on end. The Dark Mark, the details of its ugly form barely visible in the dim starlight, nevertheless stood out starkly against my pale complexion. At least the brand was continuing to fade slightly, now returning to its previous shade of drab charcoal instead of burned black, and the images of the skull and snake were immobile once more instead of writhing on my skin.

With one final cleansing breath, I closed my eyes with my left arm still held out in front of me. I stepped forward into nothingness, allowing the pull of the Dark magic to guide my Apparation. Once the instantaneous sensation of having the life squeezed out of me had passed, I opened my eyes to find myself in even deeper darkness than what I had just left. Here the weak light of the crescent moon was obliterated by thick clouds. I appeared to be high on a hill, for the only light I could see came from the electricity of a Muggle village a ways below me. When my eyes had adjusted to the dimness, I saw that I was standing in front of a large country house. The property was also presumably under the ownership of Muggles since no spell had prevented me from Apparating directly onto the grounds, an enchantment a witch or wizard would certainly have implemented.

Taking one more breath and flexing my fingers a few times, I steeled my strongest mental walls then strode purposefully forward up to the front door of the house with my shoulders thrust back and my head held high. If anyone was currently watching me, I wanted them to believe from the very beginning that I had nothing to hide.

Indeed, as soon as I had climbed the stone stairs and reached out with my hand, the front door swung open apparently of its own volition, revealing a grimy, dusty foyer illuminated by a random scattering of candles. I stepped over the threshold, and the door immediately slammed shut, nearly catching the hem of my robes and sending an echoing clap throughout the apparently deserted house. Sensing the door had not been opened by magic and that there was someone behind me, I turned to find myself looking at a small, twitchy man with pale, lank hair and watery eyes.

"Pettigrew," I acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow. "You're supposed to be dead." Though, of course, Professor Dumbledore had told me last year that Peter Pettigrew had faked his own death to frame Sirius Black and protect himself from the wrath of both the organisations he had betrayed, it was still quite another thing to actually see him standing in the flesh before me.

"Snape," Pettigrew replied shakily. He was stroking his right hand with his left, and the candlelight reflected off the fondled appendage with a flash of silver. I wouldn't have needed the headmaster's account of just what purpose his former right hand had served to know that it had been replaced with the Darkest of magic. The evil of the silver prosthetic wafted from Pettigrew like the stench of a festering wound.

"You're late," he snapped, the smooth glide of the silver hand under his fleshy one seeming to give him a boost of confidence. "He is … displeased." Pettigrew said this with relish, savouring the feeling of having the Dark Lord's approval while the status of mine hung precariously in the balance.

"Yes, well, I had more important things to do than standing around, answering doors," I retorted coldly. Two spots of colour, either from anger or embarrassment, pinked Pettigrew's cheeks, making him momentarily once more resemble the simple-minded boy who had used to somehow manage to melt his cauldron or explode his alembic every other Potions class.

"More important than immediate response to the Dark Lord's summons?" Pettigrew waspishly spat.

"That will be for the Dark Lord to decide," I replied simply, gazing around my surroundings and exuding every appearance of being completely at ease. It would have been dangerously foolish of me to think that the Dark Lord was not currently watching and listening closely to this pointless banter.

Pettigrew alternately clenched and flexed his silver fist as though wishing it was currently around my neck. "I'll have you know that while you were living comfortably at Hogwarts, I was spending every waking moment serving our Lord. I was his most obedient servant. It was because of _me_, because of _my_ sacrifice, that he was even able to—"

"—And yet here _you_ are, making the Dark Lord wait again, he who allowed you the great honour of playing butler for him. I must say that your job performance leaves something to be desired, Peter. You haven't even offered to take my cloak."

Pettigrew's face flushed fully crimson at my jabs, and his nose twitched spastically. Perhaps finally realising that he _was_ keeping the Dark Lord waiting, who surely knew I had arrived the instant I Apparated, Pettigrew sniffed loudly then angrily shuffled past me. His silver hand flashed as he beckoned me with it to follow him.

He led me down several hallways towards the back of the house. The rooms we passed were dark, but I could see the hulking white shapes of sheet-draped furniture in most of them. The electric lights were obviously non-functional, but here and there a single lit candle had been carelessly shoved into sconces that had a century ago burned with gaslight. As we turned a final corner, I saw we were approaching a room that seemed to be more well lit than the rest of the house, a crackling fire within casting a slice of deceptively cheery light from the ajar door. Pettigrew stepped aside when we reached the door, pointedly not opening it further for me with a sneer on his still rat-like face. Ignoring him, I pulled the heavy oak door open wide enough to admit me and walked confidently into the room.

It appeared to have once been a grand salon, though the numerous plush armchairs and divans on which the house's previous occupants had once savoured expensive liqueurs and cigars were currently stacked haphazardly back against the walls. Once richly embroidered tapestries, now threadbare and moth-eaten, hung from the walls hoarding decades of dust. Directly upon entering the room, I found myself face-to-face with Lucius. He stepped aside immediately and fell back against the wall like another piece of furniture, fixing his gaze to above the fireplace mantle across the way from him. I could see that several other Death Eaters were milling about the side-lines as well, but I ignored them and instead walked towards the far side of the room along a mouldy carpet runner leading to an intricately carved, Tudor-style chair. The Dark Lord sat upon it, the position of the chair and the runner giving him the appearance of a king holding court on his throne.

He appeared much as he had the last time I had seen him in the flesh. His unnervingly tall, skeletal body was swathed in black robes that tumbled around the chair as though they were sewn from woven smoke. His long-fingered, bone-like hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his wand laid delicately across his lap. Whereas the firelight would have shone off the head of any other bald man, the skin stretched tight across the Dark Lord's skull reflected nothing and resembled pliable wax. His eyes, slightly narrowed above the slits that made up his nose, studied me keenly as I approached. I made sure to hold his gleaming red stare without blinking until I was directly before him, where I then fell to one knee and dropped my gaze to his feet deferentially.

"My Lord," I said simply, as though I had seen him yesterday and was merely replying to a casual summons.

"Severus. You're late," he repeated Pettigrew's greeting, his cold, high voice dangerously quiet. "You didn't become lost, I hope?" The insinuation of his words hung so heavy in the air that I was sure every other Death Eater around me was now holding his breath.

"Never, my Lord," I replied, letting him know I understood completely what he was truly asking me.

"You had me… concerned. I do not like to be kept waiting."

"Forgive me, my Lord," I said to the floor in front of him, "for taking the liberty of believing you would understand my unique situation. I took it upon myself to assume you would wish for me to remain at my post and return only under Dumbledore's orders to preserve my cover." At the mention of the headmaster's name, whichever three Death Eaters stood next to the fire directly behind me to my right muttered several vulgar epithets at me under their breath. Through my eyelashes, I saw the Dark Lord shoot out one white hand in their direction to instantly silence them before returning it to its original position on the armrest.

"You did indeed take a liberty, Severus. Whether or not you are correct in your assumption has yet to be determined." The Dark Lord paused here and seemed to be scrutinising me curiously. I held my position like a statue, keeping every muscle in check even though my knee was already aching from pressing against the hard wooden floor under the flimsy runner.

"Leave us," he suddenly commanded the other Death Eaters. I heard the sound of half a dozen or so pairs of feet file out of the room and the thud of the door closing behind them. Once all sound has disappeared from the hallway, the Dark Lord said quietly, "Stand up. I wish to look upon you." I obeyed instantly, rising to my feet and looking him once more directly in the eyes, something I knew he would respect more than a cowering avoidance.

The Dark Lord smiled coldly at me, a macabre sight indeed. "You say that you have returned on Dumbledore's orders." He picked up his wand and rolled it between his fingers with seeming nonchalance.

"Yes, my Lord."

"So Dumbledore believes you to be truly repentant for serving me in the past and trusts you to continue obediently fetching for him, even now."

Ignoring his insult, I replied, "Yes, my Lord. Dumbledore is a trusting man."

The Dark Lord studied me keenly again for a moment before replying, "I, however, am not."

I cannot say I wasn't expecting it, but when the Cruciatus Curse hit me, it was only my decades of relentless training that kept the walls around my mind firm and intact as the Dark Lord latched onto them like a striking viper in what he believed to be my weakened state. I couldn't stop my body from convulsing on the ground before him, but I know my disciplined self-control could have kept me from crying out if I had wished it. However, I had planned on all of this beforehand and knew the Dark Lord would expect a man being tortured to scream. So I screamed, knowing he was enjoying the sound of my pain and the punishment he was inflicting on me even though he certainly must have realised I had truly done what he would have wanted by delaying my appearance without him having to ask.

I have no way of knowing how long the Dark Lord allowed the Cruciatus Curse to run through me, it could have been a matter of seconds or several eternal minutes, but I do know he tried to penetrate my mental defences several times. But I had been ready, and while he began his interview of me, I had filled my recent memory with doctored images and false emotions. I employed Occlumency to block my true memories from him, and as he tortured me, I replayed in my mind a scene where, when I felt the Dark Mark burn on my arm, I was instantly elated then furious at my inability to immediately appear at my Lord's side, not terrified at what this might mean for the safety of Avrille and our son. I let the Dark Lord see the revelation of Barty Crouch, Jr.'s true form, though none of his interrogation under the influence of my Veritaserum, and transformed my shock and disgust at his deception into admiration tinged with jealousy that I had not been able to serve my Lord as well as he had. Any memory concerning Avrille, Char, or Sirius Black—though it was only because of Professor Dumbledore's wishes that I excluded _him_—I sealed off completely, giving the Dark Lord no access to my family or Black's current whereabouts.

Finally, when I was just reaching the point where I didn't know how much longer I could keep a firm hold on my mind's defences, the Dark Lord lifted the curse and sweet release flooded my body. For a full thirty seconds, I was physically unable to move, but as soon as I felt the stinging ache in my limbs signalling the return of my brain's control over my nerve endings, I shakily climbed back up onto one knee before him. Through the veil of my dishevelled hair, I risked a glance up into the Dark Lord's face, mask-like and unreadable, before dropping my gaze once more to his bare feet.

"You surprise me, Severus. Not many men can claim that accomplishment." Not knowing whether he was complimenting me or not, I remained silent.

"I confess I was convinced you had betrayed me. After all, you were quite meddlesome when I was attempting to obtain the Philosopher's Stone three years ago."

I nodded my head humbly and replied, "Forgive me, my Lord, but I merely believed I was hindering Quirrell, an undeserving and incompetent man. I assumed he had been seduced by its proximity in the castle and was attempting to steal the Stone for himself." I decided to dare resuming eye contact with the Dark Lord and continued, "If you had trusted me to aid you in your attempts to obtain the Stone, you could have easily returned to us three years sooner. However, I understand that was much too great a risk for you to take, being unsure of my true loyalties."

"You are quite correct in that," the Dark Lord said coldly. He began almost absentmindedly toying with his wand, so I started to steel myself regretfully once more. "I was certainly not going to trust a man who appeared to be sharing the deepest confidences of Albus Dumbledore, the same man whom I had originally ordered to take up a post at Hogwarts to serve _my_ interests, not to enjoy a comfortable profession while I wandered the earth stripped of all powers and completely unable to return to my former self unaided."

This time the Cruciatus Curse seemed to be merely for punishment. The Dark Lord did not attempt to enter my thoughts, so I was able to focus completely on the excruciating torment he was inflicting on my body. Though I couldn't tell for sure, it felt like the eternity of incomprehensible pain I endured now was slightly shorter than previously. When he released me, I was able to return to my subservient position more quickly, though my legs were shaking badly, and I had to place my hands on the ground on either side of my knee to keep myself upright.

"You are merciful, my Lord," I said hoarsely. "Yes, I remained at Hogwarts under the supervision of Dumbledore instead of scouring the earth for traces of your spirit as a good, faithful servant should have done. Forgive me, I was weak. I believed wrongfully that you had been killed when your spell rebounded off of the Potter brat. I was young, untrained, and unaware of your prodigious mastery of the Dark Arts. I would give anything to go back and help you return to your body more quickly, as I'm sure any of my fellow Death Eaters would agree. The only reparation I can offer you besides my immense regret is the summation of more than a decade's worth of those very confidences you spoke of."

I knew I had reached the very edge of the precipice. The Dark Lord believed that I had remained faithful to him, though incompetent in my service as the other non-incarcerated Death Eaters had been. Now I would see if my being privy to Professor Dumbledore's "secrets" was a greater temptation than his desire to make me pay the ultimate price for my faithlessness. Though my instinct was to close my eyes and await my fate, I kept my gaze fixed on the Dark Lord's face. I knew that if I allowed myself to wait in darkness, I would not be able to stop myself from seeing the faces of my wife and son.

Finally, after a seeming lifetime of waiting, the Dark Lord said, "Tell me of Hogwarts. I was not able to glean much information when I was bound to that foolish wizard." I released the breath I had been holding slowly and imperceptibly. It appeared, for the moment at least, that I was safe.

"Hogwarts is much as it ever was. Dumbledore still grants the Mudbloods and blood-traitors free entrance into its ancient halls, though I am proud to say none of _their_ kind are allowed into my own House." Hopefully he wouldn't fact check that statement too carefully in the near future. Though there truly weren't any Muggle-borns in Slytherin at the moment, it was merely by lucky chance and not because I tried to actively prevent their admittance in any way. Personally, I could not care less what a child's magical lineage or lack thereof was, so long as he or she didn't cost me House points with sophomoric behaviour. However, I was fairly sure there were at least some parents of my current Slytherin students who would surely stand against the Dark Lord when he was ready to move out into the open and begin active conscription of followers once more.

The Dark Lord nodded in approval at my half-truth, stroking his chin thoughtfully with the long fingers of the hand not holding his wand. I readied my mental walls again, just in case, deciding the time had come to deliver one of the choicest bits of information I had.

To my previous statement, I added lightly, "I was hoping some of them would be eliminated when the Chamber of Secrets was reopened."

Instantly, I could tell I had hit gold. Though it had been nearly indiscernible given the shadows playing on his face from the firelight as well as his mastery of his own emotions, I distinctly saw a twitch of concern flit across the Dark Lord's face before it resumed its façade of expressionless stone.

"What do you mean. When was the Chamber of Secrets opened?" The Dark Lord was obviously trying to keep his tone conversational as well, but I was certain this news troubled him greatly.

"The year following your thwarted attempt to obtain the Philosopher's Stone. Unfortunately, as I said, it was closed once more before the school could be cleansed." I did not, of course, mention Potter had been the one to finish off Slytherin's beast, or that it had met its downfall by the blade of Godric Gryffindor. I was quite sure Professor Dumbledore would not want The Dark Lord to know the sword had been found, or that Potter had once again foiled his plans to return to a body. When I paused, the Dark Lord gestured impatiently for me to continue.

"It transpired that a diary imbued with Dark magic possessed a first year student, who was then made to open the Chamber unawares. The diary was eventually taken from the girl, and Dumbledore saw to it that it was destroyed." At these words the Dark Lord's face once again flinched angrily. He raised his wand with a jerk and pointed it at me once more. Expecting the Cruciatus Curse for a third time, I was relieved when he merely attacked my thoughts with Legilimency, though the sensation of having him force his way into my mind was far from pleasant. But I had been prepared and showed him what he was searching for: the image of an old leather diary, burned through as if someone had injected it with acid. As a personal jab for his torture of me, and because I could tell this book had been very important to him, I included the sight of Professor Dumbledore holding the destroyed diary with a triumphant look emblazoned across his wise face.

As quickly as he had entered my mind, the Dark Lord pulled back out of it. "And if this girl was cleared, who was determined to have been the one responsible?" he asked me, his barely contained fury radiating from him like a frozen mist.

"It was rumoured that Lucius had a hand in it. After the diary was discovered, he happened to be expelled from the school's governing council coincidentally. Fortunately, Dumbledore wasn't able to prove it was him, and Lucius was never formally charged." The Dark Lord's eyes burned at the mention of Lucius's name, not at all sharing my feigned relief at his escaping true punishment. Even though I disliked Lucius greatly for various personal reasons, I felt the slightest tinge of guilt that my information unintentionally had stirred the Dark Lord's wrath so vehemently against him.

"You have done well to tell me this. You may rise, Severus." I obeyed him hastily, my legs only giving out for a brief moment in my rush to get to my feet before I steadied myself. Still watching me keenly, he raised his wand for the fourth time. However, instead of at me, he pointed it at an old, high-backed dining chair that then flew through the air from one of the piles of furniture to land in front of him, slightly to the side. The Dark Lord pointed to the chair, still staring at me unblinkingly.

"Sit," he commanded.

"Thank you, my Lord," I said, not needing to affect the grateful tone of my voice. Though I was currently able to stand steadily, I didn't think I could have kept the tremble out of my muscles for long. Once I was seated, the Dark Lord adjusted his own position in his chair, slouching to the side slightly and crossing his legs as though we were about to share an after-dinner brandy and discuss the racecourses.

"Lucius tells me you've recently married," he said almost pleasantly, changing his tactics. I assumed we would come to this eventually, and whatever trace of pity I had been harbouring for Lucius instantly evaporated. I knew he was still smarting over Avrille's violent rejection of his illegal advances and would want to make me pay in kind for winning her affection myself.

"Yes, my Lord," I replied simply, not wanting to offer any more details than absolutely necessary. When the Dark Lord raised a hairless brow at me, I knew I would need to give him more than that.

"She was my apprentice at Hogwarts several years ago. I confess I quickly became more interested in her other talents than in her schoolwork," I said with a small smirk. At the moment it seemed safer to make it appear I had simply lusted after Avrille instead of fall so completely in love that I had risked losing my job, not to mention my life, to be with her.

The Dark Lord laughed quietly, his fleshless lips pulled back to reveal pointed teeth. "Quite understandable, from what Lucius has told me of her. And you now have a son?"

"Yes. We call him Charles." Again, I thought it best to lie and not provide the Dark Lord with Char's given name of Armand just yet if I could avoid it. The longer he went without connecting that Avrille Snape used to be Avrille Asphodel, daughter of Armand Asphodel who was murdered protecting his prodigy of a daughter from the Dark Lord's North American supporters, the better.

The Dark Lord tapped at his chin with his wand and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. "Young Severus married with a son … Lucius, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott ... all their sons grown and at Hogwarts now. So much time has passed; so many other fathers and sons, come and gone." He paused and stared off into the fire. With any other man, I would think he was waxing nostalgic, but that would at the very least require him to not be an utter sociopath.

"You know, Severus, this used to be my own father's home," he said at last, the flames he held captive in his gaze making his eyes appear even more scarlet than usual.

"Was it, my Lord?" I asked innocently, surprised not by the information, which I had had through Potter's account to the headmaster, but rather that the Dark Lord was sharing such a personal detail with me. As far as I knew, besides the mostly dead fathers of the current Death Eaters he had gone to school with and a couple teachers still at Hogwarts, no one knew anything about his previous identity as Tom Riddle.

"Mmm, yes. He was a filthy Muggle, my father, though, I'm sure, greatly revered by his tenants. I do hope that doesn't make you think less of me, Severus," he said sardonically with a sidelong glance and indulgent leer in my direction.

Unsure why he was choosing to confide this volatile information to me, I tactfully replied, "Never, my Lord. We cannot choose our fathers, after all." I tried to keep the taste of bitterness I was feeling out of my voice as I thought of my own hated, though pure-blood, sire.

"I killed him, though," the Dark Lord continued. "Him and his own worthless Muggle parents in this very room. Why," he said, gesturing at me, "he might have even been sitting in your chair!" I smiled tightly, again, waiting to see where this was headed.

To answer my unasked question, he said, "I tell you this because, though you have greatly disappointed me in the past, I want to believe that I can now trust you. It was perhaps foolish of me to give so much responsibility to Lucius, who apparently can't even be counted on to follow one simple instruction. Perhaps he will be able to redeem himself in the future, but for the moment I cannot risk putting my faith in such an incompetent lieutenant. Perhaps _you_ will rise to fill that position, Severus. After all, you have already aided me greatly on this first night of my rebirth."

"You do me too much honour, my Lord. I am happy to merely serve you, though I will gratefully fulfil any role you require of me," I said, inclining my head once more in his direction.

The Dark Lord studied my face for a full minute more. I waited, exuding a patient calm that was almost more difficult to reproduce than my nauseatingly manufactured fawning. Finally, he said quietly, "You may go. I will be summoning you again soon, and though I do understand your 'unique situation,' _do not_ keep me waiting long." Relief swept through me at his words, though I was careful to keep my expression as impassive as his. I would be back with Avrille soon.

"Of course, my Lord. I will come at the first available opportunity." I stood up, my legs still somewhat weak but at least supporting my weight, and bowed deeply. I backed away from the Dark Lord's chair for a few paces before turning my back at a respectable distance and crossing the room to leave.

Just as I reached the door to the hallway, the Dark Lord called after me, "Severus." I turned back towards him. "Send Lucius in to me," he said with terrifying coldness. I bowed my head a final time then left the room.

The hallway outside was so dim after being accustomed to the bright firelight that I hesitated for a moment once I had closed the door behind me to allow my eyes to adjust. When they had, I saw the hall was deserted, so I set off back along it to locate Lucius. I quickly found him several rooms down, milling around with the other Death Eaters in an abandoned library. They had been muttering amongst themselves, but the moment I entered the room, they fell silent and watched me with suspicious glares. Most of the men I recognised: great, hulking Crabbe and Goyle and tall, reedy Nott, obviously, since all of their sons were in my House along with Draco Malfoy. Pettigrew was cowering ignored in an overstuffed armchair in a corner, once more stroking his silver hand and watching the larger men nervously. Two others I didn't know, understandably, since I had only been with the Death Eaters a brief time before the Dark Lord's downfall, and he had been very careful back then to make sure we weren't apprised of every Death Eater's identity. One of the two, a thin, swarthy man with a limp black moustache, I recognised vaguely by sight though not by name from visits to the Ministry of Magic. The other, tall, barrel-chested, and with several streaks of grey in his ruddy hair, I didn't know at all. Neither one of them stepped forward to introduce themselves, of which I was hardly surprised. They did, however, sniff disdainfully at my lack of proper attire, I having destroyed my Death Eater robes gratefully well over a decade ago.

Ignoring their disparaging looks, I walked over to Lucius. "The Dark Lord wishes to see you," I said, not quite able to stop a small, vindictive smile from flitting across my lips. Lucius's pale face blanched even whiter, and he had not the discipline to keep a wave of fear from washing across it. He nodded, glanced at his companions, then hurried from the room. I turned to leave as well, not considering the other Death Eaters worth any more of my time.

"Going back to tattle to your Muggle-lover, Dumbledore, are you?" the ruddy man called after me. I almost let the insinuation slide but decided I had better start climbing the pecking order now.

I turned back towards him and asked coolly, "And _you_ are …?"

"Selwyn," he replied snidely. "And I was serving the Dark Lord before you were even a schoolboy, so don't you dare think of giving _me_ any lip."

"Well, Selwyn," I sneered in return, "perhaps you should be less concerned with the Dark Lord's plans for me and worry more about your own upcoming assignment. He informed me that its difficulty is aptly proportionate to his disappointment in you," I invented. I could tell, however, that I had unnerved Selwyn, for he didn't taunt me again and resumed his silent glower. Turning my back on him once more, I strode from the library only to nearly walk into Lucius, who had been waiting for me just outside the door.

As I made to pass him to leave, he grabbed my arm roughly and hissed in my ear, "What did you tell him, Severus!"

Wrenching my arm free of him, I replied, "Only how well you continued his work of trying to kill off the Mudbloods when you saw to it the Chamber of Secrets was opened again. He must want to thank you for knowing his mind so completely, even when he wasn't around to command you." I straightened my robes casually, smoothing out several wrinkles from Lucius's seizure of them. With another small smirk and a raised eyebrow, I left Lucius behind in the hallway visibly trembling, his white face having now turned a sickly shade of green.

When I had rounded a corner, putting me out of Lucius's line of sight, I picked up my pace and virtually fled the manor house. The moment I stepped outside the front door onto the cobbled stoop, I Disapparated to appear instantly back outside the gates of Hogwarts. Once again bathed in summer starlight, the moon having only risen a few inches higher in the heavens, I hurried to unlock the towering school gates. I slipped between the iron bars, then dropped to my knees the moment the closing gates' clang sounded behind me. I took several shuddering breaths of pine-scented air, keeping myself from complete collapse by digging my fists into my thighs with locked elbows. I hung my head, my neck suddenly having the strength of a green sapling, and let my hair fall forward to block the cheerfully lit castle from view. I stayed in that position recovering for several minutes, hoping no one would be coming down from the castle or back up from Hogsmeade to discover me in such a compromised stance.

Finally, I was able to muster my strength by remembering Avrille was waiting for me. I stood once more and brushed bits of gravel from the legs of my trousers. I walked up the twisting drive to the castle, practically limping from the cramps spreading up my legs. When I reached the massive front doors, I shook myself over once to regain my composure, then headed into the castle. Both the entrance hall and the Great Hall were deserted with their lights dimmed low, the headmaster having presumably finally sent the students to bed. I was glad I didn't meet anyone on my long climb up the dozens of stairs to Professor Dumbledore's office; I didn't want to have to report to anyone else at the moment, and my legs were shaking badly once I reached the correct floor.

At the end of the corridor, I spoke the password to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office, hoping he hadn't yet changed it in accordance with the new security measures he was surely implementing. Fortunately, the gargoyle instantly leapt aside to grant me admittance. At least I didn't have to climb the moving staircase up to his actual office tower, so I leaned against the stone wall, catching my breath as I was carried upwards. When I reached the top, I took a moment to smooth my robes once more then knocked on the door to Professor Dumbledore's study.

"Enter!" I heard him call loudly. I did, and as I passed over the threshold, I was given the feeling he had just been conversing with the former headmasters and headmistresses since many of the paintings' occupants stared at me with interest as I closed the door behind me.

"Severus!" Professor Dumbledore exclaimed when he saw it was me and quickly rose from his desk where he had been seated, penning a letter. His aged face soon showed even more lines than usual, for his expression fell from relief at my apparent safety to deepest concern as I stepped into the light. I must have looked as dreadful as I felt. Professor Dumbledore hurried over to my side and immediately took my arm to support me. Had any other man done so, I would have been mortally offended, but I gratefully accepted the headmaster's assistance in walking to one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire. I fell into it and let the soft give of the well-broken-in leather cushion my weary body.

"Can I get you anything? A brandy … or perhaps something stronger?" Professor Dumbledore asked, standing over me and still looking very worried.

"A Strengthening Solution, if you have one, would be best," I replied, resting my forehead in the palm of one hand. Now that I had released the Occlumency spell from binding my mind, my skull was throbbing like someone had been using it as a duelling dummy. The headmaster nodded and with a wave of his hand, summoned a glass vial from one of his many cabinets. I reached forward and took the potion thankfully from mid-air where it hovered before me and downed the crimson liquid in one gulp. Replacing the stopper, I handed the vial back to Professor Dumbledore and looked up at him once the room finally stopped spinning.

"He wasn't very pleased with me, at first," I said with a grim smile. I sat back in the chair again with a sigh and enjoyed the warm, tingling sensation as the potion spread vigour back into my limbs.

Professor Dumbledore sat in an armchair beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Have you been to see Avrille yet?" he asked. I shook my head. "She'll be worried sick, Severus," he gently reproached me.

"I know, but I had to see you first and get all of this out of the way before I speak with her." Professor Dumbledore nodded in understanding, and with obvious trepidation, he nevertheless gestured for me to continue.

I began recounting the night's events after I had left him in the school's hospital wing. I told him of seeing Pettigrew alive in the flesh, confirmed the identities of the Death Eaters Potter had claimed had appeared before him in the graveyard, and matter-of-factly recounted the Dark Lord's interrogation of me, passing over none of the more unpleasant details. Professor Dumbledore's brow knit worriedly when I described the times the Dark Lord used the Cruciatus Curse, but thankfully he did not interrupt. It would have been more difficult to recount the torture with him offering words of regret or consolation. Enough had passed between us in the past that I knew he was feeling my pain as his own. He did, however, break in after I mentioned how interested the Dark Lord had been to hear the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened.

"So he was definitely visibly angry when you told him the diary had been destroyed?" he asked me.

I nodded, sipping the brandy the headmaster had insisted I drink as well. "It was the only time I saw him lose control of his emotions. I didn't stay to eavesdrop, but I'm certain Lucius suffered much worse than I did tonight for his role in the harm that befell that book."

Professor Dumbledore looked oddly triumphant and stroked his long silvery beard thoughtfully.

"Do you know what significance that diary held for him, besides being a tool to continue his unfinished work?" I asked.

Professor Dumbledore smiled and replied lightly, "I have a vague notion, but really nothing more than the meanest of conjectures. I won't bore you with my unorganised ramblings on the subject." I personally didn't buy his excuse as to why he wouldn't tell me his suspicions but tried not to be resentful of it. He obviously must have felt it was safer for me not to know.

When I had completed my full recount, we both stood, and Professor Dumbledore placed his hands on my shoulders. "I am so very sorry for what you had to endure tonight, Severus, but you have aided the Order in more ways than you can know. Voldemort may have returned, but because of sacrifices like yours, we will be more prepared to face him than ever before. There are more things I wish to discuss with you, where we will be setting up headquarters, for example, but I won't trouble you with them tonight. Please go to your family, now. We have been letting your wife worry far too long, and I certainly don't wish to give her any more reasons to be angry with me!" With a fatherly pat on the back, Professor Dumbledore steered me to the door of his office. I bade him goodnight as the numerous clocks around the room chimed the hour of one, then took the revolving stairs back down to the main castle.

As I made my way down to my rooms in the dungeons, I debated with myself how much information Avrille should be given. The delicate balance between wanting to protect her from knowing too much and having her be in danger from knowing too little tipped back and forth in my mind. I arrived at the door to my rooms without having made a decision and simply hoped that Avrille wouldn't badger me for details, at least not tonight.

Glad to see that she had locked the door, I opened it with my wand and passed through into the parlour. The room was silent, and the lights were extinguished besides the large fire in the grate. I hung up my cloak by the door then entered the main living space to see Avrille's still form reclined on the sofa, draped with a blanket. I approached her quietly and saw to my relief that she was sleeping, though her eyebrows were knit together like she was having a bad dream. I cast a very mild sedating charm over her, and her face instantly relaxed into a more peaceful expression. She must have been utterly exhausted to fall asleep amidst the intense anxiety I knew she had been suffering since I left her behind earlier in the evening.

I silently made my way across the room and entered my bedroom. By the light of a single candle, I saw Char sprawled across his bed, his legs tangled in his kicked-off blanket while one arm smothered his bear. My arms ached to gather up my son, but I couldn't touch him, just as how I couldn't touch Avrille. Not yet. I contented myself with waving my wand again, this time to pull his blanket back up over his small frame and tuck it in under the mattress.

I continued on through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Closing and locking the door behind me, I flooded the hard, echoing space with light. I splashed a bit of cold water on my face, then gripping the icy marble countertop tightly, I looked up into the mirror at my reflection. Instantly I was glad I hadn't awoken Avrille just yet; the sight of me probably would have made her scream. My normally thin face looked beyond exhausted to thoroughly wasted, and my eyes were framed with circles so dark it looked like someone had punched me. I imagine I must have looked rather similar two years ago when Avrille saved me from my father's tomb.

I stripped out of my clothes and got into the shower, making the water as hot as I could stand without scalding myself. I simply stood under the steaming stream with my arms against the wall for a good ten minutes, letting the hot water run over me and relax the remaining kinks in my muscles the Strengthening Solution hadn't removed. When I felt myself starting to sweat, I turned the heat of the water down and gave myself a vigorous scrubbing over. The Dark Lord hadn't physically touched me, but I felt like I still needed to be thoroughly cleansed before holding my wife and child as if to protect them from his evil magic transferring onto them through contact with me. Stopping only because I knew I would soon scour my skin raw, I forced myself out of the shower and onto the slick tiled floor. After towelling off, I rubbed a clear space on the foggy mirror and examined my face once again. The hot water had done me a world of good. I still looked tired, but at least I didn't resemble an Inferius anymore.

The air in the bedroom was so frigid after the bathroom's sauna-like atmosphere that bumps erupted over my bare torso as soon as I stepped through the door. Stopping only to finally allow myself to kiss my son's mop of black hair, I hurried to a wardrobe and dressed for bed. When that was done, I examined myself once more in a mirror to make sure I hadn't reverted to my previously ghastly visage. Realising I was blatantly stalling, and not even sure why I was at all, I finally re-entered the parlour and closed the bedroom doors behind me.

My charm had kept Avrille sleeping soundly on the sofa. I lifted it with a wave of my hand as I sat down beside her feet. I watched her to continue to sleep, not wanting to break the spell of her peaceful rest with worries and talk about the Dark Lord. But I knew she would be far more anxious about not knowing my fate this evening, so I reached across and gently ran my hand down her face to wake her. She stirred fretfully for a moment then opened her eyes blearily with a small groan. Upon seeing me, she sat bolt upright and threw her arms around me, pulling my face into her neck.

"Oh my God, Severus! I was so worried." She didn't let me go for a minute, and I could feel the pulse in her throat racing against my lips. She finally released me slightly so she could look me in the eyes. "I can't _believe_ I fell asleep! When did you get back?" she asked me with a slight accusatory tone in her voice as she eyed my changed clothes.

"A little while ago. I'm sorry I didn't wake you. I wasn't ready for you to see me just yet," I said quietly, cupping her cheek in my right hand. Her eyes filled with tears, which she furiously tried to blink away.

"But you're ok, now?" she asked, covering my hand with her own.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," I lied. I then waited for her own inquisition to begin, knowing I had provided her with painfully few details before possibly rushing off to my death. But Avrille's earlier thirst for information seemed to have vanished, and instead of rattling off a thousand questions, she threaded her hands through my damp hair and roughly pulled my mouth to hers. The tip of her tongue brushing against mine did far more to renew my strength than either of the restorative draughts I had drunk in the headmaster's office. I gently pushed her back down onto the sofa and settled my body over hers. Avrille began immediately stripping off my clothes, I returning the favour, until we lay naked under the blanket. For the first time since I had felt my Dark Mark burn hours earlier, my mind was blissfully empty as I ran my hands over every inch of my wife I could reach.

"I need you," she moaned throatily in my ear. She wrapped her legs around mine, and I instantly made to grant her wish. But then I hesitated, propping myself up on one elbow and placing the other hand on her hip to keep her still for a moment.

"Have you been taking your potion?" I asked her. Annoyance flashed across her flushed face, and she brushed her hair out of her eyes so she could stare at me with incredulity.

"_Really_, Severus? You're asking me this _now_?"

"Forgive me, it's just … This isn't the time to be bringing another child into the world," I said quietly. Avrille's expression softened somewhat, and she pulled my mouth back down to meet hers.

"I took it earlier in the week," she said in between kisses. I abandoned myself to her lips and allowed her to guide my movements, relieved to finally be able to relinquish any semblance of control.

When we had satisfied our cravings for the time being, we lay curled together on the sofa, Avrille pressing her face into my chest as I ran my fingers through her long, silken hair, the firelight catching the red undertones and making them shine like burnished copper. I tried desperately to keep my mind empty and simply enjoy Avrille's soft warmth, but my earlier ordeal and worries of the future wouldn't stop invading my otherwise contented thoughts.

"We should get to bed," Avrille said, her weary voice slightly muffled. Her lips moving against my chest reignited my burning desire, so I pulled her more tightly against me and captured her mouth once more.

"Not yet," I whispered pleadingly. Though I knew she was tired, I sighed with relief when she once more melded her body to mine and allowed me to drown my troubled thoughts with the sweet taste of her skin. I had no idea what further trials and sacrifices the morning would bring, but at least for now, I was home.

Author's Note: _Since this is a WIP, please leave a review if you have a moment. It's really incredibly helpful for me to know what you like or don't like so far. Passing on any mistakes that you've noticed (especially with "Britishisms") would be very much appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! ~Renny_


	3. Chapter Three: AVRILLE

CHAPTER THREE

_Avrille_

I woke up the next morning in Severus's bed with a small foot practically shoved up my nose; apparently Char had climbed in with us sometime after we finally got dressed and went to sleep. I delicately extracted his toes from the side of my face and waved a candle alight so I could read the clock. It was already almost seven; Severus would be late if he didn't get up soon. I felt horrible having to wake him, knowing how incredibly exhausted he had been last night, but I also knew he had never taken a sick day in his fourteen years of teaching. He would be furious with himself if he overslept.

I reached across Char's sprawled legs, untangled his other foot from his father's hair, then poked Severus in the back. He grunted in his sleep and shifted slightly but didn't wake up. With a sigh I sat up and leaned over to shake his shoulder.

"What?" he asked grumpily.

"It seven o'clock. You have to get up."

With a resigned groan, Severus rolled onto his back and sat up as well, wincing slightly as he did so.

"Are you alright?" I whispered as I pulled on my robe, deciding to get up too, so I could have a chance of perhaps eating breakfast in peace before the baby dragon stirred.

"I'm just a little sore. It's nothing," he replied dismissively, though not quite meeting my inquiring stare. I wondered what could have happened last night to leave him sore this morning but was certain he wouldn't tell me even if I asked. Instead, I climbed across the bed and sat behind him to rub out his shoulders while he fumbled with the dials on his watch, either because he was still half asleep or his fingers hurt that badly, I wasn't sure which. He sighed appreciatively at the massage and let me continue for a minute more before taking hold of one of my hands and turning around slightly to look at me.

"Stay within the grounds today. I'm going to ask Professor Dumbledore this afternoon if we can move you and Char back into the castle for the time being."

There went my hopes of spending the summer all together as a family in our new house. I tried to keep disappointment out of my voice when I asked, "Do you really think that's necessary? I mean, didn't things go alright last night with … with _him_?"

"Yes, it's necessary," Severus replied sternly as he rose to get dressed. "Just because the Dark Lord trusts me today, it doesn't mean he will trust me tomorrow." I didn't press the matter further, knowing it was stupid to be upset over where we would be living this summer when I should be simply grateful Severus was alive at all.

I watched him get dressed with unabashed enjoyment, remembering our night together a mere few hours ago, then followed him out into the parlour after he had groomed in the bathroom. Severus immediately headed over to the low, claw-footed cabinet near his desk where he kept his prepared potions. Though he kept all purchased ingredients in his storeroom in the largest dungeon classroom, several instances of theft in the past had led Severus to store potions ready for use in his office. Anything above O.W.L. level, especially more dangerous potions such as Veritaserum and Draught of Living Death, he kept locked in his private rooms for extra security. But the cabinet also held more common, medicinal potions for ready access, like the Strengthening Solution that Severus now knelt down to retrieve from the back of a bottom shelf. I couldn't help making a face watching him tip back his head, downing the spicy red solution in a single swig and on an empty stomach.

"While I was waiting for you to come back last night," I said to him as he pulled on his school-robes, slightly awkwardly from his tight muscles, "I came to a decision about something. I'd like to talk to you about it later when you're done with classes."

"Of course," he replied, kissing my cheek quickly as he glanced at the clock over the mantle. "I have to go. Professor Dumbledore is probably going to address the students about last night's events, and I don't want to be late." I pulled him against me for a quick squeeze and forced him to take a half-second to kiss me on the mouth, his lips tasting slightly of cinnamon and cayenne, before he hurried out the door. Left behind in the near darkness, the sunlight not yet having penetrated the depths of the lake outside the windows, I quickly ordered myself some breakfast from the kitchens. I sat at the table by the windows and ate, staring at my reflection in the glass and wondering how Severus was going to react to what I needed to tell him.

Char woke up the moment I had finished eating, and I spent the first part of the morning picking small bits of cereal out of his long hair after he had an uproariously good time placing his bowl full of oatmeal on his head to make a helmet. Though I could quell an ancient Revenant with a single spell and effortlessly blow up marble tombs, I still had trouble sometimes with those finicky little cleaning spells other witches seemed to pick up effortlessly growing up in a magical household. I hadn't paid much attention to stuff like that when I was younger since I had convinced myself that my magic, which I had supressed after my father's murder, would never return.

Once Char was good and clean, we spent our day exploring the lakeshore. I conjured a little picnic lunch for us, though I had to practically beg Char to stop feeding bits of his sandwich to the giant squid, who kept fishing out a tentacle near him in the water, looking for handouts. When the shadows from the Forbidden Forest began reaching their dark fingers toward us across the grounds, I took Char's hand and slowly led him back up to the castle. I knew Severus would have finished his classes by now, and I was hoping to catch him before he went to dinner.

Severus wasn't in the rooms when we returned, but I heard him enter as I was laying Char down for a late afternoon nap. Once he was asleep, I left the bedroom to find Severus flipping through several piles of papers on his desk.

"I don't know why the students always seem to think that just because it's warm outside, they are suddenly excused from handing in homework," he remarked irritably as I approached him. "I had to hand out several detentions, so I'll be in my office all evening." He scooped a thick stack of papers into his open briefcase on the desk, most likely uncorrected student work to keep him busy during the detentions, then turned to me.

"How was _your_ day?" he asked, pulling me against him and kissing me deeply before I had a chance to answer. I hated that it was caused by him suddenly being thrust back into the dangerous role of a double agent, but I had to admit I was quite enjoying this seeming return to our newlywed sex drives. When he released me from his embrace, I had completely forgotten his question. He seemed to have as well, for he asked instead, "What did you want to speak to me about?"

"What? Oh, right. I'd rather we sat down when we had more time …" I said, glancing at the clock, knowing he'd have to leave for dinner soon.

"Well, can't you just give me a hint?" he asked friskily, reaching up under my blouse to run his hand down my back. I pulled his hand out and held it in mine. I figured it _would_ probably be best to broach the subject now, while he was obviously in a good mood, instead of later when he would have been sitting in detention for hours.

"Last night ... Well, I hated just sitting here, waiting to hear the worst and being unable to do anything to help you. I was thinking …" I hesitated for a moment, toying with Severus's wedding band distractedly. "I was thinking of asking Professor Dumbledore if I could join the Order of the Phoenix as well."

"No," Severus said sharply, his face instantly hardening as he dropped my hand. "Absolutely not."

"But you're going to be risking your life all the time. I can't just do nothing!"

"Yes, you can, and you will," Severus said, turning away from me to pick up his briefcase. I sighed with exasperation.

"Can't we please just wait and talk this through tonight when we have more time?" I asked.

"There's nothing to talk about. You are not joining the Order, end of discussion," Severus replied with finality. "I have to go. I'm going to be late for dinner." I reached out to touch his face, but he brushed roughly past me and strode angrily from the room. I glanced at the clock again, seeing that Severus had plenty of time to get to the Great Hall. I suppose he was just using it as an excuse to not talk to me.

I tried to bring up my possibly joining the Order a few times over the next several days, but every time I did, Severus would instantly turn stormy and stop speaking to me until I changed the subject. I was more frustrated by his refusal to actually discuss the matter with me like an adult than his flat out forbiddance of my speaking to Professor Dumbledore. After a week of this, I finally stopped mentioning it because I hated how it was coming between us. My feelings hadn't changed, but seeing Severus's stress level rise daily between preparing his end of term marks for submittal and also waiting to be summoned by the Dark Lord again, I didn't have the heart to keep pestering him.

Soon the Hogwarts students had all returned home on the train for their summer holidays, the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students having departed for their home countries the same day as well. Professor Dumbledore had immediately granted Severus permission to relocate Char and me back into the castle, so I regretfully packed up the things I would be leaving behind in our Hogsmeade house to keep them out of the sun and dust until we were able to return.

Thoughts of wanting to join the Order never stopped swirling through my mind and were only increased when, a week after the school year had ended, the Dark Lord required Severus's presence once again. It had unfortunately happened right when we were in bed together, removing each other's clothes with tantalizing slowness. After the Dark Mark burned on his arm, Severus had been unable to continue and had retreated to the parlour, leaving me behind in the bed feeling frustrated and helpless. He reported in first thing the following morning, and though he was only gone for a couple of hours like before, I felt like I was going to throw up from the anxiety of awaiting his return. Also like the previous time, he looked completely drained when he did finally come back, and he refused to discuss anything that had happened with me.

One day half-way into July, Severus informed me he would be gone until late in the evening. When I asked him where he was off to, he only said that it was on the orders of the Dark Lord, and he couldn't discuss it with me. However, he reassured me several times that it wasn't at all dangerous, and I wasn't to worry. I tried very hard to believe him. After he had left and I'd gotten Char to take a nap with Lavinia watching him—she reaffirming her need to get some baby-wrangling practice in (it being better to start while they were sleeping)—I steeled my resolve and walked hurriedly through the castle corridors before I could talk myself out of what I was about to do. Much too soon, I found myself standing in front of a large stone gargoyle.

"Cockroach Cluster," I told the statue with a bit of inner revulsion. Who seriously _ate_ those things? I had gotten the password out of Lavinia instead of asking Severus since I didn't want him to guess what I was planning. The gargoyle jumped aside, granting me access to Professor Dumbledore's office. At the top of the revolving staircase, I knocked on his door, hoping he was in since I didn't know if I could keep up my nerve of blatantly defying my husband's wishes for long. Fortunately, I heard Professor Dumbledore's voice inviting me admittance. As I entered his study, I saw a swooping flash of silver tail feathers as a Patronus flew through one of the many towering windows, open to the balmy summer afternoon, and disappear into the enveloping sunshine.

"Avrille!" Professor Dumbledore exclaimed happily as he turned from the window where the Patronus had flown from. A gust of deliciously fresh summer air blew past him, ruffling the ends of his long beard and sending numerous pieces of parchment tumbling from his desk to skirt across the polished stone floor. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked as crossed the room to sit behind his desk. With a long-practiced mastery, he simply waved a hand absentmindedly and the scattered papers flew back onto the desktop, reshuffled themselves into their correct order, then sat tidy and slightly dimpled under the pressure of a conjured marble paperweight. Professor Dumbledore gestured with an open palm to one of the chairs before him, into which I settled myself.

"I need to speak to you about something, Professor, while Severus is out of the castle."

"Is everything alright? Does it have something to do with his assignment?" he asked with concern. He waved his wand and a tray of iced tea and biscuits appeared on his desk. Professor Dumbledore poured two frosty glassfuls of the beverage and set one before me.

"Well, sort of," I said, accepting the offered drink with a smile. I hesitated, taking a sip of the perfectly brewed infusion, wondering if the headmaster was going to respond to my request as negatively as Severus.

"I guess I'll just get right down to it. I want to join the Order of the Phoenix," I said in a rush. Professor Dumbledore studied me over the rims of his half-moon spectacles for a moment as he sipped his own tea carefully so as to not spill any into his beard.

"Forgive me for asking, because you are your own woman, and I don't want to make it sound like you need anyone's permission to make this request, but have you discussed this wish of yours with Severus?" he asked finally.

I took a deep breath. "Yes. Well, rather, I've mentioned it to him several times, and he has flat-out forbidden me to even consider it."

"Yes, I figured he would," Professor Dumbledore said with a small sigh, helping himself to a thin biscuit dusted with powdered sugar. "I've never spoken of the possibility to Severus myself, of course, for I'm fairly sure he would use one of his wonderfully nasty invented curses on me for even thinking it, no matter how close our relationship is." I smiled since that sounded about right.

"Though, as I said, you are free to make your own decisions," Professor Dumbledore continued, placing his tea back down on his desk and folding his hands inside the long sleeves of his light, linen summer robe, "I would feel better knowing that Severus was in agreement with this. He is already risking his own welfare in assistance to the Order, and to ask him to risk the safety of his wife as well, without even his consent, does not sit easy with me."

"I know," I said with a sigh of my own and placed my empty glass back on the tray. "I know it's dangerous, but Severus doesn't tell me _anything_. He doesn't understand how it only makes it worse for me having to imagine the horrible things that might be happening to him in my mind instead of just knowing the truth. I'm tired of sitting around here being useless."

"I would hardly call what you are doing useless, Avrille," Professor Dumbledore said solemnly. "You are raising a child, for much of the time on your own while Severus has been teaching. I won't insult you by asking if you have considered what joining the Order might mean, but please humour me by stopping and truly reflecting once last time on how this could affect your son."

"It's because of him that I have to join," I said, feeling spots of colour flood my cheeks from my emotion. "I couldn't live with myself if I let him grow up in a world where the Dark Lord was able to regain his full power because people like me stayed at home and did nothing. I know I can't be of much use to the Order right now, but I want to do anything I can to help. And once Char is a little older, I'm sure I will be able to do more. Please understand this is simply something I have to do."

Professor Dumbledore exhaled heavily, but then slowly nodded. With a shrug of his bony shoulders, he said, "I have done all I can without overstepping my bounds to counsel you against it. I pray Severus forgives me someday. But I can't deny you would be a powerful asset to the Order, and not merely because of your gifted magical ability. You have proven on many occasions that you would do anything, including risking your life, for those you love. If there were more people in the world who loved as faithfully as you, Avrille, Lord Voldemort would never stand a chance.

"As it is, I must instead gratefully accept your offer of help, even though it is against my instinct to once again let a young mother shoulder such a dangerous burden." For a moment I saw a shimmer in Professor Dumbledore's eyes, but when he blinked, it had vanished. I thought he must be currently thinking of Lily Potter and the sacrifice she had made for her own son the last time the Dark Lord was alive. I sometimes wondered if it was because of his close friendship with Lily, who had been murdered when Harry was even younger than Char was now, that further cemented Severus's vehement opposition to my wish of assisting the Order.

"Can I join right now?" I asked eagerly, wanting to have everything over and done with before I saw Severus next.

"If you wish. You will need your wand." Professor Dumbledore stood, removing his own wand from a deep inner pocket of his sky-blue robes, and crossed to the other side of his desk to stand before me. I rose as well and raised my wand to match his stance, as though we were preparing to duel each other.

"Before we begin, I have to make sure that you are aware this constitutes a binding magical contract. Though not as irreversibly final as an Unbreakable Vow, you are nevertheless swearing to uphold the constituents of the oath. Should you break them, you will suffer a great, perhaps irreversible detriment to your magical power."

I took a slow, deep breath and nodded. "I understand."

"Very well." Professor Dumbledore elegantly shook back his sleeve and put forth his wand to touch mine. As soon as the tips connected, a faint pinkish glow enveloped our outstretched hands.

"Do you, Avrille Snape, agree to join the organization known as the Order of the Phoenix, the sole purpose of which is to destroy the Dark wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort?" he asked me.

"I do," I replied. The mysterious light glowed slightly stronger, casting across both our hands with a deep rosy hue. Also from somewhere there suddenly came the faint, sporadic notes of a complicated birdcall. It wasn't being sounded by Professor Dumbledore's pet phoenix, who was drowsing on its perch in a sunny corner of the office, and I honestly couldn't have put a direction to the noise at all. It was like a large bird was chirping musically in my own head.

"Do you swear to protect the identities of other members of the Order of the Phoenix and to never reveal an identity to a non-member, no matter who it is?"

"I swear it." The light surrounding our wands burned even brighter, now darkening to a blazing crimson sparked with glittering flecks of orange. The twittering melody also grew more constant, though it was still petering out too often for me to grasp the flow of any particular tune.

"And do you swear to guard the secrets of the Order of the Phoenix, even if it means compromising your own safety to ensure the continued welfare of others?"

"I swear it." The light from our touching wand tips suddenly ignited into a small ball of flame that gave off waves of heat but did not burn. With the sudden flash of light, the birdsong burst forth with its full measure of lilting effervescence. I had never heard anything like it before. The flow of the music was completely alien, as if it had been composed by someone using a scale consisting of thirteen notes instead of eight, but at the same time, something about it spoke of comfort and home. Hearing the soaring melody in my mind, I was at once both elated with encouragement but also sobered by its more haunting refrains that seemed to beseech, "Do not forget those who came before you." Its purpose fulfilled, the fiery light slowly extinguished, receding into the wand tips as though being absorbed into each instrument's core. Once the light had completely disappeared, the birdsong also faded away to nothing. I felt a comforting warmth spreading up my outstretched arm that soon settled around my heart, leaving me feel surprisingly calm and at peace with myself about my decision.

"Well, that's that, then!" Professor Dumbledore said with a sudden levity as he stashed his wand away into the folds of his robe once more. "I was actually intending on visiting headquarters in several hours to check on how things are shaping up there. You are very welcome to accompany me, if you wish, and I can introduce you to whichever members of the Order are there at present. Some you will already know; Minerva and Hagrid, obviously, and you know Remus Lupin from when he taught here a little while back. The true Alastor Moody has valiantly agreed to continue assisting me despite his ordeal this past year. I'm sure you'll get on quite well with everyone. A new member is usually cause for a small celebration," he said with a slightly sad smile. I guessed from his words that the recruitment drive wasn't going so well. Severus had told me a couple weeks ago that the Minister for Magic was trying his best to discredit Professor Dumbledore and keep people from believing the Dark Lord had truly returned.

"I'd like that very much," I said. "Char will be awake from his nap by then. I assume it's alright if I bring him along?" I asked.

"But of course! Arthur and Molly Weasley have enlisted the help of their four youngest to tidy things up around headquarters, though they are obviously not allowed to officially join the Order yet. I'm sure there isn't anything Molly would like better than to have the chance to dote on a little one." Professor Dumbledore crossed back to behind the desk and took his seat once again. "Do you have any more questions? I'm sure everyone will be more than happy to apprise you with what has been happening, now that you are officially a member."

"No, thank you. I just wanted to get this first step over with as quickly as possible."

"Very well, then. If you would care to meet me just outside the school gates at half past four, I will escort you to the headquarters in London." He gave me a little wave of dismissal as though I were one of his students, which made me smile, and turned back to open several letters strewn across his desktop. I turned to go, but just as I had reached the door, he called out my name.

I turned back to Professor Dumbledore, and he said quietly, "Severus will find out very soon what you have done. It would be best if you told him yourself before another member of the Order lets the news slip to him."

"I know. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." I left the office to return to Lavinia's rooms to check on Char. As I walked through the castle, the soft glow of the oath I had taken seemed to slowly recede from my chest, leaving me with a heavy heart full of guilt for going behind Severus's back after all. But he had left me with no choice. He should know me well enough by now to realize I would never be happy remaining in the dark, safe but maddeningly ignorant.

At four-thirty on the dot, I stood outside the school gates with Char, he happily playing with the sticks littering the path. I was feeling slightly nervous. I didn't know exactly what sort of other people were members of the Order, though Severus had scoffed disdainfully to me once about the "riffraff" Professor Dumbledore was allowing to join this time around. Unfortunately many of the Order's strongest members of years past had been killed by Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself during the last war. To further complicate things, a majority of the most powerful British witches and wizards nowadays held high-ranking positions in the Ministry of Magic, making them unlikely to join the Order, which would be viewed as an act of defiance against the Minister himself.

Minutes slowly ticked past, and I started to grow even more anxious waiting on the exposed road. I kept glancing around me, half expecting to be confronted by Severus Apparating next to me at any moment. Finally at quarter to five, I saw Professor Dumbledore jauntily walking down the hill from the school, whistling a snippet of a song.

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, Avrille," he said as he stepped through the school gates, which had opened automatically to grant him passage. "It seems like there is always just one more owl that needs answering whenever I have plans to leave the school. And how are _you_ this afternoon?" he asked Char, bending down with surprising agility to give him a warm smile. Char happily handed him a moss-covered stick, to which the headmaster replied, "How thoughtful!" and handed it back to him, effortlessly transfigured into a liquorice wand. Char squealed with delight, loving any sort of magic performed for him, and began chewing on the sweet with gusto.

"I hope I didn't just spoil his dinner," Professor Dumbledore said apologetically as he straightened up once more.

"No, he had a late lunch," I replied, lifting Char into my arms so we could get going.

"He looks so much like Severus," Professor Dumbledore said fondly. "Except he certainly has your eyes." This thought seemed to make him sad for a moment, but he was instantly full of youthful vigour again as he asked, "Shall we go, then? But forgive me, I hadn't considered your son; I was planning for us to Apparate there. Have you ever Apparated with Char before?"

I nodded. "I've been Apparating with him since he was a newborn. It used to make him cry quite a bit, poor thing, but I wanted him to become used to the sensation early." Bundled in my arms, Char held out his liquorice wand to me to share. I took a small bite to appease him, then he resumed happily chomping on it with his brand new molars.

"Excellent! Well, as I am Secret Keeper for the Order, I need to tell you where we are going or else it will be impossible for you to find it. We are Apparating to the charming London neighbourhood of Grimmauld Place. The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number twelve."

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," I repeated back.

"Quite correct. I shall see you momentarily, then." With that, Professor Dumbledore turned spritely on the spot and vanished with a small pop.

"Ready?" I asked Char.

"Yeah!" he replied.

"Ok, hold your nose!" I instructed. Char immediately grabbed his nose with his free, though very sticky, hand. Sometimes the sudden change in pressure from Apparating bothered him, and I had found that having him plug his nostrils kept his ears from getting too stopped up. I also turned on the spot, keeping the address the headmaster had confided in me firmly in the forefront of my mind. After an instant of very uncomfortable compression where it almost felt like Char would be pushed back into my body through my chest, we appeared in a small city square, Professor Dumbledore again at our side.

It was much hotter here than at the school, the blacktop of the street incubating the late afternoon sun's rays, which were casting a reddish haze over a neighbourhood I would certainly not have described as charming. We were standing in front of a block of large row houses, looking as though they might have housed well-to-do townies in the Victorian times. However, they now just seemed exhausted from the passing of decades and leaned haphazardly against each other. A rank stench filled the hot air, coming from dozens of overflowing trashcans lining the sidewalk. Perhaps the Muggle collectors were on strike at the moment.

"There we are!" Professor Dumbledore said, pointing to one of the townhouses directly in front of us. It seemed even more dilapidated than its neighbours. Its grey stone exterior was crawling with ivy, though more in an infested, not dignified, looking way, and the windows were as grimy as though they hadn't been washed once since London abandoned coal for heating. A mail carrier was making his late rounds and passed by us with a curious stare at Professor Dumbledore's flowing robes (I having changed into slightly less conspicuous clothing), then continued his delivery. He inserted a handful of mail into the box hanging from number eleven, then passed the house in front of us without even a glance in its direction before inserting several envelopes through the mail-slot of number thirteen.

"A fascinating charm, isn't it?" Professor Dumbledore commented, before leading the way up to the door the mailman had ignored. On it a tarnished silver number twelve hung lopsidedly against peeling black paint, the numerals fashioned out of thin serpents. Professor Dumbledore entered without knocking, and I followed him into a space so dark I couldn't see anything around me for a full minute until my eyes adjusted from the sunny afternoon outside. When I could finally make out my surroundings, I saw we were in a very dim hallway. The only light came from several sputtering candles since heavy black velvet drapes blocked any sun from shining in the tall front windows. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust or wispy cobwebs. A disturbing row of mounted house-elf heads confirmed that this house had long belonged to wizards, presumably all hailing from Salazar Slytherin's family line since the décor's general motif seemed to be primarily based around silver snakes like the door number. I was more than slightly confused as to why this place was the headquarters for the Order when it looked much more fitting to house the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

"I see Molly's cleaning crew hasn't yet tackled the hallway," Professor Dumbledore said quietly with a chuckle, also taking stock of our surroundings. "No matter, I'm sure the kitchen is spotless by now. Let us head down there." He gestured to an open door to our left, which led to a short flight of stairs.

Before I could descend, I heard the shallow thudding patter of feet above me then a whispered voice ask, "What's _she_ doing here?"

"_Obviously_ she's in the Order, Ron!" another voice replied, the bossiness still conveyed through the hushed tone making me fairly sure it belonged to Hermione Granger. "And anyway, she's nice!"

"Nice or not, anyone who marries Snape can't be right in the—oomph!" Ron's voice was suddenly, and apparently painfully, silenced. Perhaps Hermione realized their whispers had been carrying because I didn't hear anything more. Professor Dumbledore looked up at the retreating pairs of shoes with another quiet chuckle, before gesturing for me to precede him through the open door. I sighed as I took the steps down. I wish Severus wasn't so talented at making every non-Slytherin student dislike him.

The bottom of the staircase opened into a large kitchen, merrily lit by a fire cracking in an enormous fieldstone hearth. Numerous bunches of onions, shallots, and garlic hung from the splintery rafters alongside fragrant bouquets of various dried herbs. At a large, scrubbed oak table sat Ginny Weasley, cutting a veritable mountain of carrots the same color as her vivid hair. Ginny gave me a small, shy smile of recognition. Behind her at an old-fashioned pump sink stood a short, red-headed woman, who turned toward us when she heard our footsteps while drying her hands on a dishtowel.

"What a pleasant surprise! I had no idea you would be stopping in, Albus," she said, casting an appraising glance at the stack of carrots.

Professor Dumbledore raised a hand and said, guessing her thoughts, "I won't be staying for dinner, Molly. I wanted to simply check in and have a quick word with Arthur, if he's here."

"He's just sent along a message saying he was held up at the Ministry, but he should be here very shortly," Mrs. Weasley replied. She turned to me and held out the hand not holding the damp towel. "How do you do? I'm Molly Weasley," she said with a warm smile. Mrs. Weasley had the healthily full figure and comforting air of a woman who had birthed a brood of children and enjoyed a life of good, hearty food. I liked her instantly.

I shook her hand and returned her smile with one of my own. "Avrille Snape. I'm very pleased to meet you."

Mrs. Weasley raised her eyebrows. "You must be Severus's wife, then! I read about your wedding in the _Daily Prophet_, and of course, Fred told me all about you when you were teaching." Ginny snorted into her carrots at this for some reason. "And who is this little love?" she asked, turning to Char, who had been most uncharacteristically burying his head shyly in my neck ever since we entered the house.

"This is Char, and he's normally not this modest," I said. "Can you say 'hi' to Mrs. Weasley?" I asked him cajolingly.

"Call me Molly, dear, I insist!" she said. Char raised his head to grace her with a flirty smile and a small wave. "Oh, would it be alright if I held him? It's been so long since I've had a baby in my arms."

"Of course!" I said and held Char out to her since he seemed to be warming to Molly as quickly as I had. Molly gathered him up into her ample bosom before swinging him around in a well-practiced motion to sit on her hip.

"Why don't you two have a seat?" Molly offered. "Ginny, move those over to make room."

I sat at the table at a place cleared from carrots, but Professor Dumbledore said, "I think I may just come back later, Molly. I have some business to attend to at the Ministry myself. Perhaps I will run into Arthur there. Do you mind if I go on, Avrille?" he asked me.

"No, not at all," I said. Professor Dumbledore inclined his silvery head to us then walked back up the stairs to leave.

"Could I get you some tea?" Molly asked me, fetching down a copper kettle hanging over the hearth with her wand and setting it instantly steaming while she continued bouncing Char on her hip. I could tell Molly had done many years of multitasking while holding babies.

"If you wouldn't mind," I said.

"Mmm … something energizing, I think," Molly said with a knowing smile at my probably exhausted-looking face. Char had napped well, but he had been up several times the night before, crying. I wondered if he was able to sense the worry that had been surrounding Severus and me lately.

"Mum, I'm done. Can I _please_ go back upstairs, now?" Ginny asked, putting down her knife and pushing the last of the chopped carrots into a stew pot sitting on a bench.

"Yes, yes, yes. But why don't you take little Char with you, if it's alright with his mother?" she asked, looking at me. I nodded that it was fine, thinking Char might enjoy seeing the rest of the house.

"Come with me?" Ginny said to him with a big smile and an exaggeratedly perky voice. Char seemed fascinated by her long red hair and gladly allowed himself to be handed over to her. "Oh, he's just so cute!" Ginny said to me, bouncing him on her hip like her mother had. "Wanna go meet my horrid, nasty brothers? Yeah, let's go!" she said in her insanely cheery voice once more before bouncing away with Char toward the stairs.

"Keep him in your or the boys' rooms, Ginny" Molly called after her daughter, gesturing with her wand pointedly at Ginny's retreating back. "Do _not_ bring him into any room Mr. Moody hasn't given the all-clear to yet!"

"I _know_, Mum!" Ginny shouted back over her shoulder in sheer teenage exasperation.

I didn't know if I liked the sound of that warning, but Molly instantly distracted me by placing a steaming mug in front of me. "I hope you don't mind," Molly said, sitting down across the table with one for herself. "You just seemed like you needed a moment to yourself."

"Is it that obvious?" I asked despondently, inhaling the invigorating, spicy aroma of the steeping ginger tea.

"No, you look _wonderful_. I just remember the toddler years very well, having survived them so many times." Molly smiled warmly at me again. "I don't think I slept for a year straight after Fred and George learned to crawl. It _will_ get easier, but before you know it, he'll be too big to hold your hand, and you'll find yourself missing those sleepless nights you used to dread when he was a baby." I nodded, knowing she was right. Char was already growing up so quickly, but I still couldn't help yearning for a time when he wouldn't be so utterly dependant on me for every little thing.

"Albus never mentioned you'd joined the Order. Have you been in it long?" Molly asked, squeezing out her tea bag and placing it on her saucer.

"Well, actually …" I began, but stopped when I heard two raucous male voices echo down toward us from the hall. A third voice, female and screeching violent obscenities, soon joined them.

"Shut _up_, you miserable old hag!" one of the male voices shouted and with an echoing bang, the female voice was instantly silenced.

"I do wish they would be _quiet_ in the hallway!" Molly sighed huffily. At my confused expression, she explained, "The house's previous owner fixed her portrait in the hall before she died, and her painted memory is not very happy we're using the premises."

Before I could ask more about the place, since I was very interested in why such an old, derelict building was being used to house the Order, the male voices grew even louder as the owners came down the stairs. Two men soon appeared, laughing and shoving at each other like school boys. One of them was Remus Lupin, who I knew from his brief tenure teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts the year Char was born. We hadn't often spoken with each other, but he was a nice enough man, though I knew Severus greatly disliked him for some reason besides him being a werewolf. The other man I didn't know, though he looked vaguely familiar. His long black hair, slightly peppered with grey, hung roguishly in his eyes, and he swept it back when he spotted me sitting at the table.

"Molly, why didn't you tell me we had a new member?" he asked, sounding scandalized like he should have been the first one in the house alerted. Lupin gave me a small wave but was instantly shouldered aside as the other man strode past him to hold out a hand to me.

"Sirius Black," he said, introducing himself with a grin. I forced myself to keep the surprise I was feeling off of my face. The handsome, grinning man before me bore no resemblance to the haunted visage that had stared fiercely from the wanted posters plastering Hogsmeade two years before. He also didn't seem nearly as unpleasant as Severus had always made him out to be.

"Avrille Snape," I said, standing to shake his hand.

"Snape?" Black's flirty smile faltered for a brief moment before he quickly recovered. "Severus never mentioned he had such a _lovely_ younger sister!" he said, still holding my hand in both of his.

"I'm not Severus's sister …" I said slowly.

"Ah, you're American!" Black exclaimed excitedly, hearing my accent. "You must be his cousin, then!" I glanced behind Black to see Lupin rolling his eyes.

"Canadian, actually, and no, I'm his—"

"—Niece?" Black's face had taken on a look of mad, hopeful desperation, and for a moment he once more resembled his mug shot.

"I'm his wife," I said, point-blank. Black slowly let go of my hand, a small, vacant smile still on his lips. He stared at me for a beat before breaking into a barking laugh.

"Oh _very_ funny, Remus! I tell you yesterday how dreadfully bored I am being shut up in this rat hole, and you go and pull this together to cheer me up!" Black turned to smirk at Lupin, who had covered his eyes with one hand and was shaking his head, obviously mortified by his friend. Black didn't seem to take the hint and continued, "_Quite_ amusing! But not very convincing, I must say. You're losing your touch in your old age." Black turned back toward me, studying me intently like I was an actor in a play he was reviewing. "I mean, Snape? Being married to _her!_? The mere idea of it is just–"

"—Just _what_, exactly?" I cut in icily. Black's smile wavered once more as I glared at him, and he turned back to Lupin with a look of such disbelief it would have been comical if I wasn't already so pissed off.

"It's true, Sirius," Lupin said with a resigned shrug. "Severus married Avrille right before I started teaching at Hogwarts." Sirius flashed me another lopsided grin, as though he could distract me from being offended if he just smiled enough, then took a few paces backwards before rounding on his companion.

"_And no one thought this was worth mentioning to me?_" he hissed in Lupin's ear, though not quietly enough to keep me from overhearing.

Lupin shrugged again and said unworriedly, "I thought you knew!" He brushed past his still-blustering friend to settle himself at another end of the table.

Black remained turned away from us, staring at the door for a moment before spinning on his heel to face the table, rubbing at his hair with one hand in obvious embarrassment. The movement strangely reminded me of a dog scratching at a flea behind his ear.

"Er … yes. Right. Nice to meet you," he said to me haltingly. "So happy for you both. Oh, is that the time already?" he asked with exaggeratedly wide eyes, focusing on a spot above the hearth behind the table. "I have to go feed Buckbeak. Now. Don't want him tearing the room apart looking for ferrets." I turned to see a clock on the wall that was stuck at half past eleven, its pendulum unmoving and several wires and cogs hanging haphazardly out of the face. "Ah, I might be down for dinner, Molly, or maybe not …" Black said, before turning and walking from the room as quickly as he could.

Lupin laughed quietly beside me, shaking his head. "Please let me apologize on behalf of my friend. He has a good heart, but he can really be a complete ass sometimes. Thank you, Molly," he said, accepting a mug of tea for himself. "Are there any biscuits?" he asked her as he added some honey.

"Yes, but we'll be eating soon, and you'll ruin your appetite," Molly replied with a quelling stare at Lupin, who was glancing around the kitchen trying to spot a cookie tin. I took a sip of tea to hide my smile at her bossily maternal tone. "Will you and your boy be staying for dinner, Avrille?" she asked, turning back to me.

"I'd like to, but I really think we should be getting back to the school soon …" I said but was once again stopped by the sounds of the front door slamming above us and another loud voice carrying down the stairs. It was a wonder anyone in the Order was ever able to finish a conversation with all the comings and goings around here.

"This really is excellent! What a windfall! I just can't wait to tell Molly!" the jovial male voice was exclaiming but was quickly cut off by the insane raving from the portrait in the hall.

"_Filth! Vermin! Putrescent Mudblood spawn! Besmirching the halls of my ancestors with their horde of blood-traitor brats!"_

With another loud bang like before, the crazy woman was silenced, and I heard the man's voice say with relief, "Thank you for that. I always forget, and Molly gives me her look of doom every time." I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see Molly was indeed glaring at the stairs as though they had done her a personal injury. "I'll just pop down and round up the others, shall I?" he asked his silent companion. The sound of a quick tread down the stairs preceded the appearance of a middle-aged man, tall, lanky, and wearing horn-rimmed glasses. The way Molly continued to glare at him combined with the bright shade of his thinning hair made me convinced this must be her husband, Arthur.  
"Oh, now don't look at me like that, Molly," Arthur said cajolingly, "I have wonderful news! Severus was able to get us the plans!" He raised a long cardboard tube he was holding over his head and shook it as though in triumph. His jubilant expression, and the soon matching ones of Molly and Lupin beside me at the sight of the tube, clashed with the sudden sinking feeling in the base of my stomach.

"Oh, pardon me! I'm Arthur Weasley," he said when he noticed me sitting next to Lupin.

"This is Avrille, Arthur," Molly said on my behalf, leaving me relieved since I was still smarting from my beyond awkward introduction to Sirius Black.

"How wonderful!" Arthur proclaimed, his effortless enthusiasm making him as instantly likable as his wife. He must have heard of me before since he continued, "Why, I had no idea Severus's wife was a member of the Order!"

A voice behind him remarked coldly, "Strange, Arthur, neither did I." The bottom of my stomach dropped out completely as Severus stepped into view beside Arthur, having descended the stairs without making a sound. He looked daggers at Lupin, as though the werewolf had been directly responsible for my presence at headquarters, before sweeping his eyes onto me. I met his furious glare for only a second before dropping my focus to my tea mug, my face burning with guilt.

The atmosphere of the room turned instantly from celebration into one of extreme discomfort. I heard Arthur clear his throat nervously before remarking, "Ah, perhaps we should go upstairs and prepare things, Remus? Molly?"

Guessing Arthur was trying to give him and me some time alone to sort things out, Severus said brusquely, "Professor Dumbledore will be here momentarily. We should assemble now." I risked a glance up to see Severus shoot me a withering look that was clearly daring me to even think of following him to the meeting, before he turned on his heel and stormed from the kitchen back up the stairs.

"Oh dear," Arthur said sadly, watching Severus go. Lupin gave me an apologetic smile before depositing his mug in the sink and heading upstairs himself. "Er, well … as Severus said, Dumbledore _will_ be here any minute. I saw him just as I was leaving the Ministry …" Arthur looked at Molly and me inquiringly. I once again buried my face in my mug and turned my stinging eyes away from him.

Seeing my devastated expression, Molly said quietly, "Go on ahead, Arthur. You can fill me in later after dinner." I heard Arthur slowly climbing the stairs back up to the entryway.

Molly reached across the table and took my hand in both of hers, patting it gently. "Don't fret, dear. Things like this are bound to happen in any marriage. If I had a sickle for every time Arthur and I have quarrelled …"

I shook my head, feeling utterly wretched. "It's all my own fault, though. Severus was adamant about me not joining the Order. I tried to follow his wishes because he's risking so much, and I didn't want to create one more thing for him to worry about, but I was going absolutely insane being shut up in the castle unable to do anything." Molly patted my hand again before taking my empty mug from me and placing it with hers and Lupin's already in the sink.

"I understand completely," she said, as steaming, soapy water shot out the end of her wand to spray the mugs. "Arthur acted the exact same way with me when the Order was first formed years ago. He would tell me over and over that it was far too dangerous. He never said so, but I knew he was also thinking, what good would I be able to do? What with three little boys running wild around the house and being out to here with the twins?" Molly held a soapy hand a good two feet out in front of her stomach. I nodded sadly, knowing _exactly_ how she had felt then.

"So I did follow his wishes that time. I stayed at home, raising our boys, while others risked and lost their lives." Her voice trembled here slightly, and she turned her back to me to rinse the mugs.

I gave her a moment before asking, "But he let you join this time?"

Molly laughed and turned around, hanging the clean mugs back up on hooks above the sink. "I thought we were in agreement that it's not about them _letting_ us join! Of _course_ Arthur was against it again this time! But I finally put my foot down. We couldn't forbid Bill and Charlie from joining up, since they were of age and out of school, so I told Arthur under no circumstance would our sons be in the Order without me right there alongside them to keep their noses clean.

"Well, dinner is set to go," she said, tapping her wand against the lid of the enormous stew pot which instantly began emitting steamy vapours and tantalizing bubbling sounds. "Why don't we go check on your little boy? I know it's very hard to take a break from them without making sure they're truly alright every five minutes. Then perhaps you can assist me in the library. I've been trying to find a little time to go and toss some of the more questionable books before the children stumble upon them. I personally find having something to do with my hands helps me stop focusing so much on what's troubling my mind." I nodded in agreement and allowed Molly to lead me from the kitchen and up into the main hallway.

We passed a closed door behind which I could hear Severus's muffled baritone, his speech made unintelligible by the thick wood. My stomach flipped uncomfortably once more, but Molly led us past the door and up the stairs. When we reached the first landing, we heard a voice mutter a swear and the sound of several pairs of feet on the floor above us retreat hastily into a room followed by the slam of a door. Molly glared at the ceiling above us then said in explanation, "Ron and the twins. They keep trying to listen in on meetings even though Arthur and I have _strictly_ forbidden them to." Shaking her head and muttering something that sounded weirdly like, "If I find any more of those ear strings …" Molly led me on along the first floor.

Most of the doors down this hallway were shut tight, but Molly brought us outside of one that was open and casting a large rectangle of bright light across the tattered, decaying carpet. Inside the room we found Char sitting with Ginny and Hermione on a large canopy bed, hung with curtains that were also falling into tatters but at least looked like they had suffered a good washing. Char was so entranced by the Fillibuster Fireworks Ginny was setting off that he didn't spare me even a glance when I called his name. Satisfied that he was being well looked after, Molly led us back up the hallway and around the corner to the very end of another corridor where a heavy set of double doors were standing firmly locked tight by a thick, tarnished chain and padlock. Molly waved her wand once, and the chain and lock fell away with a slither onto the carpet, creating a small puff of dust with its impact.

The library room itself was not large, but it was packed wall to wall with rickety, tottering bookcases, each one stacked so full of books that many had rows of them three deep. Molly lit a small blaze in the fireplace but said she didn't feel comfortable making it any larger until she had confirmation that the chimney sweeping charm she had cast the week before had actually worked. The tiny fire and few hanging candelabras not emitting enough light to reflect the words on the gilded book spines, I shone my wand over a few of them to better make out their titles. I wasn't surprised that Molly had kept the kids out of here with half the books being called things like, _Pruning the Rot: How to Keep Your Family Tree Pestilent-Free_ and _A Pure Bloodline At Any Cost_. The thought of destroying books normally made me cringe, but I had no problem tossing volume upon volume like those into the bin Molly had conjured to accept the refuse.

Several grimy oil paintings hung on the walls, their occupants muttering angrily as they watched our progress, though fortunately not screeching like a banshee as the one downstairs was wont to do. Only one portrait was truly outspoken, the impression of a Restoration Age wizard with a long, tightly curled black wig, who kept exclaiming things to me whenever I tossed a book such as, "You'll be sorry you don't have that when your Squib grandchildren can't conjure a matchstick!" and, "Now, really! That book cost me over two galleons!" (the exchange rate apparently being much higher back in his day).

"I'm so thankful Sirius has given me permission to dispose of all the portraits. Hopefully these ones prove easier to remove than his mother's in the hall," Molly said after a while with a sneeze from all of the dust.

"That's his _mother_?" I asked incredulously. I had to raise my voice slightly to cover Mr. Chatty Portrait's cry of "Scandalous! Absolutely scandalous!"

"Yes, this is his house. Or rather, he owns it. He hasn't voluntarily lived here since before he graduated Hogwarts." I figured upon learning that, I should try to cut Sirius some slack. He may be an egotistical jerk, but it was really astounding he didn't turn out to be an actual mass-murderer growing up with _that_ piece of work for a mother.

Molly had stopped mid-motion of heaving a book into the proportionately larger toss pile and was staring past me with her eyebrows raised. I turned to see Severus standing in the doorway, once more having come up behind me silently.

The shadowy threshold kept his expression a mystery, and his controlled tone betrayed no hint of the state of his mood as he asked, "Could you leave us please, Molly? I would like to speak to Avrille alone."

"Of course," she replied and bustled from the room after giving me a small smile of encouragement. Severus closed the library doors behind her after she passed through. I sat down on a sheet-draped couch with resignation, waiting for the chastisement I knew I was overdue for. However, as Severus stepped into the room, he didn't instantly explode as I had feared he might. He didn't even look at me but instead strolled calmly past where I sat to examine a row of books Molly and I hadn't sorted through yet. I kept waiting as he pulled a book down, seemingly at random, and began absentmindedly flipping through the pages.

Unable to bear the suspense, I finally said after taking a deep breath, "I know you're furious with me—"

"—I'm not furious with you," came Severus's soft contradiction. His long black hair had fallen forward as he perused the book closely in the dim light, veiling his face. Finally with a sigh, he tossed the book back onto a shelf and said, his face still turned from me, "I'm furious with myself. Because of foolish, thoughtless mistakes I made when I was younger, I've now put you in great danger. It doesn't even matter that you joined the Order. I chose to risk your life the moment I married you." Severus finally turned to look at me, and the expression of misery on his face hurt me far more than the rage I had originally expected.

"Please don't say that," I whispered.

"It's the truth," he said, his voice now rising slightly, though I knew the anger in it was directed at himself. "The day the Dark Lord disappeared, I knew it was only a matter of time before he returned. I swore I would be ready when he did; I assumed I wouldn't have anyone's welfare to risk but my own. After all, with a Death Wish hanging over my head, who would want to be with me anyway?" His mirthless laugh stabbed me in the heart.

"Stop it, Severus." His sardonic smile slid off his lips at my quiet command. "You don't get to take all the blame. That's not how it works." I felt my own anger rising within me.

"Do you think I was blind to the dangers of falling in love with you? Are you saying that you somehow hoodwinked me into marriage? In case you've forgotten, within hours of our first kiss, you disclosed to me you used to be a Death Eater and that you had defected to work for the Order instead. You told me all of that not to put me in danger by knowing those things, but to protect me from what could very well happen in the future. You gave me an easy out, and I chose you. So _stop_ acting like I was this innocent little girl you selfishly threw into harm's way!"

Severus stared at me after my outburst, him apparently not expecting it just as much as I _had_ been expecting one from him. After rubbing his hand across his mouth and chin as though fighting to keep in more words of self-deprecation, he finally came over to sit next to me on the couch. He took my hand in his, and the warm strength of his grip helped dispel some of my anger.

"Where's Char?" he asked finally.

"With Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger," I replied, then added at his raised eyebrow, "and I seriously doubt they're trying to brainwash him into hating Slytherin in an hour's time." Severus laughed quietly, and the remaining resentment I was feeling at being treated like a porcelain doll melted away at the sound of it.

"I'm so sorry I went behind your back," I said, resting my forehead against Severus's shoulder.

"I know." He squeezed my hand again.

"And I promise I won't volunteer to do anything dangerous." I glanced up at his profile to see him nod slightly, his gaze fixed solidly on the sad, dying fire in front of us. I fought back another surge of guilt from seeing a trace of fear in his grey eyes.

But he mastered himself the moment he noticed I was watching him and said with a smile, "Let's go home."


	4. Chapter Four: SEVERUS

CHAPTER FOUR

_Severus_

Professor Dumbledore had requested a conference with me first thing the following morning since we had had no time to speak privately at headquarters after my report to the Order. I knew Professor Dumbledore would be desirous of a more comprehensive account of how I had retrieved the building plans from the Ministry.

The headmaster was seated at his usual position behind his desk when I entered his study. He was conversing with Minerva, who was dressed in Muggle clothing and clutching what I recognised to be Sturgis Podmore's invisibility cloak. Apparently she was just going to or returning from guard duty over Potter at his aunt and uncle's house. I was not surprised to see the usually stuffy and modest deputy headmistress had dressed herself in a short sleeved, though high-necked, blouse and a prim, knee-length skirt since reports from other Order members had confirmed that the summer heat and drought down south were positively brutal this year. Seeing me waiting by the door, Minerva quickly wrapped up whatever she was saying then made to leave. She paused to acknowledge me brusquely before leaving the office.

"Severus."

"Minerva," I replied with an amused smirk. She narrowed her eyes at me. I knew her suspicious squint at my expression had nothing to do with any qualms of whether or not I was truly loyal to the Order; no doubt the Head of Gryffindor already had the quickly approaching new school year on her mind. With the reappearance of the students would come the return of Quidditch, which had been put on hiatus the previous year with Hogwarts' hosting of the Triwizard Tournament. Minerva knew I was most desirous of returning the Quidditch Cup to its rightful place on its reserved shelf in my office, since it had been unfortunately relocated to a display case in her own after the last played season brought a disappointing loss for Slytherin. Perhaps she believed that if she glared long enough, she might quell my fighting spirit and force divulgence of my plans for this year's Slytherin team just to make her stop.

With a frown, Minerva continued past me to descend into the main castle. I walked over to Professor Dumbledore's desk and took a seat as he cleared a space in front of him from piles of correspondences and several stacks of newspapers. The frozen solidarity of the photographs in many of the newspapers proved them to be Muggle publications from various areas of the country.

"Can I get you anything, Severus? Hot tea, perhaps?" Professor Dumbledore asked. The weather in London might have been unseasonably warm, but an overcast sky here had left the headmaster's tower office slightly draughty and cool.

"No, thank you," I replied, irresistibly reminded of a summer morning three years prior when I had sat before the headmaster, impatient and annoyed by the prospect of having to soon "waste" my year supervising a young, secret-laden witch from Canada. If only my problems now were as minor as they had been back then, my largest concern being how dealing with an apprentice would cut into my private time set aside for research.

"Please excuse me while I partake, then. Business with the Ministry kept me from making it down to the Great Hall for breakfast this morning." With a quick rap with his wand, a golden tea service and a plate of various pastries appeared to the side of his desk.

"Thank you for coming to see me so quickly," he said after putting a crumpet on a plate before him and sipping some tea. "I realise you need to report to Voldemort soon, and the less you keep him waiting, the better." I did not flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, as so many others did, but I still rather wished Professor Dumbledore wouldn't use it around me. "I know I told you last night how incredibly grateful I am that you were able to procure the plans for us. Knowing that Voldemort will now be unable to take them for himself is a relief to me, though I know he will surely think up another way of learning about what he seeks and much too soon.

"But I won't deny I have been debating back and forth within my mind whether it wouldn't have been better to just let Voldemort have what he wanted, and thwart him at another junction. It would have increased your standing in his eyes and, _much_ more importantly, saved you from having to suffer any punishment from his disappointment."

The plans the headmaster was referring to were the mostly complete architect's renderings of the Department of Mysteries located in the deep bowels of the Ministry in London. Of course, since the department was constantly evolving to meet the needs of the research conducted there, the plans wouldn't be one-hundred per cent accurate, but the Dark Lord had seemed convinced that they would be sufficient to give him the information he was seeking. When he had summoned me last week, the sudden, burning pain in my left forearm bringing a swift end to the intimate evening I had been planning on enjoying with Avrille, he had informed me that I was already being given the honour of performing for him a task of paramount importance.

He described the folio of drawings he was in search of, confident I was the most suitable man for the job. Though Potter had lived to report of the Dark Lord's return, something he had been most desirous to keep quiet until he had firmly re-established his base of supporters, he knew no one in the Ministry believed Potter's seemingly wild tales. However, he also didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. He knew that my spotless reputation, having never been tried as a Death Eater in open court, along with my many connections at the Ministry due to my position at Hogwarts would make me much more likely to succeed than someone with a more questionable history like Lucius, who was constantly having his manor searched, or Macnair, whose occupation as an executioner made him both conspicuous and unlikely to invite confidences. Professor Dumbledore believed, and I agreed with him, the underlying reason for the Dark Lord's interest in these particular plans was that he was eager to find the exact location of the Hall of Prophecy.

Sixteen years ago, when I had overheard Sybil Trelawney's unexpected prediction while eavesdropping as an ardent supporter of the Dark Lord, I had been inelegantly evicted from the premises by Aberforth Dumbledore before she had finished prophesying. I nevertheless faithfully reported what I _had_ gleaned to my master, who rewarded me for my priceless information by bestowing the thing I had been coveting of my older Death Eater companions for years; that very night he branded me with his Dark Mark, fixing me irrevocably amongst his most trusted servants. But I only relished that gift for the briefest time. All too soon I realised to my horror that those words I had carried eagerly to the Dark Lord's ears set in motion his ruthless hunt to locate and destroy the newborn son of the only true friend I had ever had.

The chink of a golden spoon stirring against china brought me back to the present.

"I know you well enough to be certain you covered your tracks masterfully, but I am still very worried, Severus, about how Voldemort will react when you return to him empty-handed," Professor Dumbledore said as he added a splash of cream to his tea.

"I'm sure he will be angry," I replied, "but I'm positive I haven't given him any reason to do me harm. I was able to obtain the plans from Rogers, Head of the Department of Wizarding Records and Magical Documents. I've held an acquaintanceship with him for some years since he has often aided me in the location of historical texts to reference in the books I've authored. He was only too happy to track down the drawings I described, again on the pretext of needing them for a piece of writing I was working on. Once I had the plans in my hands, I modified his memory so that he wouldn't ever recall even hearing of the plans, let alone that I had taken them from him.

"To further protect myself, I planted a fabricated unconscious memory of me performing the Cruciatus Curse on him when he denied the plans' existence. If any other Death Eater questions him and decides to break the memory charm, that scene will be replayed should they perform Legilimency to discover if I was telling the truth. However, the nature of the implantation in his unconscious thought is one where, should that happen, Rogers himself will still be unaware of the memory, meaning he can't accuse me of performing an Unforgiveable Curse on him.

"So, though the Dark Lord will undoubtedly be disappointed in me for returning without his quarry, he can hardly hold me at fault for not obtaining an item that doesn't exist," I concluded.

Professor Dumbledore looked impressed at my explanation, his tufty white eyebrows rising up to nearly meet the silver of his hair. "Well, I still hope Voldemort isn't feeling particularly brutal when he questions you later. My mind will be much more at ease when you are back here safely. With that resolved for the time being, there was another matter I wished to speak to you about. I have, of course, reviewed your most recent application."

Having finished his brunch, Professor Dumbledore Vanished the tea service, and in its place he laid a single piece of parchment on the desk in front of him. I recognised it as the petition I had submitted to him at the end of the previous term several weeks ago to, for the fifteenth time, argue that I would better serve the school teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts than in my current position as Potions master. I sat up a little straighter in my chair, for once slightly optimistic. The casual inquiries I had put out to colleagues in the academic community had come back with the confirmation that, so far, Professor Dumbledore had proved quite unable to find a single person to fill the position for the upcoming term. Apparently the occurrence of the previous hire being abducted and held hostage in his own trunk for an entire school year had been enough to scare off whatever few people might have wanted the job still.

"I'm very sorry, but I must once again turn your application down," Dumbledore said with sympathy, as though he hadn't given me the same news year after year. However, his seeming pity of me simply made me bristle slightly with annoyance.

"Well, who have you found to teach the class?" I asked, trying to keep my irritation to myself.

"No one," he replied enigmatically, his hands resting on my application with steepled fingers.

I gave him a moment to explain himself, but when he simply remained sitting there, watching me with apparent sadness, I finally said, "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

"_I_ have not found anyone, but the position has been filled. Dolores Umbridge will be heading the class this year."

"Umbridge? Fudge's _secretary_!" I had only met the woman once in the past, when I had been summoned to the Ministry to give a statement on my involvement in the escape of Sirius Black from Hogwarts a year ago. I had, of course, been completely resolved of any blame, but the impression I had been left with after Madam Umbridge questioned me on behalf of the Minister was that I had never met a more unpleasant and repulsive woman in my life. And having spent an unfortunately large amount of time in the company of Bellatrix Lestrange, that was certainly saying something. When, at the end of the interview, she had offered me smarmy congratulations on the recent birth of my son, I had felt like I needed to return immediately to Hogwarts and give Char a bath.

"Is she even qualified?" I asked condescendingly, slouching back down in my chair slightly and crossing my arms.

"It doesn't matter what her qualifications are," Professor Dumbledore replied, pushing another piece of parchment across the desk towards me. I reached out to pick it up and glanced at it peevishly. It seemed to be some Ministry declaration that if the headmaster of Hogwarts was unable to find a suitable candidate to fill an empty position at the school, the Ministry would choose the candidate for him.

"I didn't have any other choice," Professor Dumbledore said when he saw I was done reading.

"You had _me_." I was unable to keep the anger and disappointment out of my voice this time.

"I did have you," he agreed with a sad nod, "but if you had taken up the post, I wouldn't have had you the following year. And forgive me for being so selfish, but right now I need you at Hogwarts more than ever."

"Oh please," I scoffed, tossing the Ministry decree back on to the desk, full of sudden disdain for my mentor, "you can't seriously be telling me that you of all people take stock in those ridiculous rumours of the position being cursed? That if I teach Defence, a horrible _something_ will keep me from continuing after a year?"

"It's not a rumour. It is the truth," was his simple reply to my scorn.

"Fine. If you're so convinced, then appoint me with the stipulation that I go back to teaching Potions the following year. I'm sure you can find someone easily to fill in for _me_ temporarily. That should satisfy the conditions of the 'curse' as well as give you more time to fill the Defence position permanently."

"I doubt that's how it works, Severus, and I'm very sorry, but you are much too valuable to be the test subject of such a risky theory. I've made my decision. I will not fight the Ministry on this point, and Dolores Umbridge will be filling the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Professor Dumbledore then slid my application into a desk drawer to further emphasise that the matter was closed.

I stood up from my chair, intense anger welling up inside of me at the sight of the headmaster's apologetic expression, anger vastly disproportionate to the loss of a potential position that I'd been, in truth, unhopeful of obtaining since I _had_ been denied it fifteen times and counting. But the rage still surged within me, and I found suddenly I couldn't look at him for the moment. Instead, I strode over to one of the towering windows set into the circular walls of his office and glared down at the school grounds far beneath me, my hands gripping the crenelated sill so tightly my knuckles blanched white and the masonry cut into my fingertips.

"I had no choice, Severus," Professor Dumbledore repeated quietly behind my turned back.

"You could have tried harder," I said through gritted teeth.

Knowing my loss of control was incited by more than what he had just told me about Umbridge, he said sorrowfully, "You know I tried as hard as I could. She's not one of my students. I could counsel, offer my opinion, but no more than that. I have no claim over her besides that of great mutual respect. I told her I was very apprehensive of allowing her to join the Order without your consent, but she would brook no refusal. You know far better than I do that she is not easily swayed when her mind is made up about something."

I didn't reply right away, but my clenched jaw relaxed somewhat with thoughts of Avrille and what she would say if she knew I was being difficult with Professor Dumbledore. I was also aware that within hours I would be before the Dark Lord again, and it would be very dangerous to face him while my mind was clouded with anger and resentment. I watched as two thestrals with a foal between them rose up from the shadowed depths of the Forbidden Forest to fly a few tight circles before descending out of sight once more.

"I'm fine with risking myself to serve the Order. I can even stomach what the Dark Lord will surely ask me to do, as long as it helps keep others safe. But if another woman I care for dies because of my own failings …" I said quietly, mostly to myself.

But Professor Dumbledore heard me, and his voice behind me said, "The circumstances are vastly different than what they were last time. Voldemort cannot move in the open, and his resources are greatly limited. Avrille is a mother now and will be much more careful about putting herself into any situation that could be dangerous. You need to trust her. Trust that she will know when to fight and when to simply protect herself and your son, just as you know how to do."

I nodded and finally let my bitterness go. I knew Professor Dumbledore was right. It wasn't that I didn't trust Avrille not to do something reckless, but I had just never quite gotten used to the idea of her not needing my protection. Even though she had spectacularly saved my life completely on her own, I still secretly cherished the memory of her in the school library, being unable to simply levitate down an out-of-reach book without my help.

The Dark Lord was still lodging at his Muggle predecessors' manor house. Though it may have seemed foolhardy to stay in the same place where his resurrection had been witnessed, obviously the Dark Lord was confident no one would come searching for him there. Either he was certain Professor Dumbledore didn't know where the manor was situated or, more likely since he must have assumed Potter would have reported every detail of what he witnessed that night in the graveyard, he didn't care if the headmaster did ascertain the house's location. He would consider it a wonderful personal affront to Professor Dumbledore to set up his own headquarters in the most blatantly obvious spot since he knew the Minister for Magic refused to believe Professor Dumbledore's claims that the Dark Lord had returned at all. It doesn't matter where you hide if no one is looking for you.

Though from outward appearances little had changed to the Riddle House since the Dark Lord had taken up residence there—the blasted-off names on several incriminating gravestones being the exception to this—the house and grounds were now veritably impenetrable from outside intrusion. For instance, I could no longer Apparate directly onto the property. When the Dark Lord summoned us Death Eaters, we now were forced to Apparate onto an overgrown path in the woods a quarter mile from the house and walk the rest of the way on foot. When we reached the border of the Riddle estate, a wall of enchantments prevented any witch or wizard without the Dark Mark to proceed further. The Dark Lord may have been confident that no one would come searching for his base of operations, but he also wasn't leaving anything up to chance.

I left the school several hours after the conversation with Professor Dumbledore in his office to once more present myself to the Dark Lord. With regret I had left Avrille, sullen and frustrated, behind in our rooms in the dungeons with an overly excited Char. I knew she worried greatly every time I had to face the Dark Lord, though she had tried her best to put a smile on her face as she wished me a quick, safe return. This was soon twisted into a look of pain as Char pulled roughly on her hair, she having made the mistake of turning her attention from him for five seconds. When I started to admonish him, Avrille pushed me out the door, reassuring me she could handle things so I wouldn't be late. The last thing I heard before heading away to my office was Char shouting his new favourite phrase of, "No, no, NO!"

Though my love of being a father was only equalled by that of being Avrille's husband, I still couldn't deny that the role could be positively maddening sometimes. I just didn't have the endless reserves of patience Avrille seemed to possess, she never once having raised her voice at Char unless he was doing something that threatened his own safety. I couldn't claim such a spotless record on that account, though I tried my best to simply leave the room and take a few deep breaths when he drove me beyond the point of vexation. I suppose it was ironic how I could completely mask my emotions before the Dark Lord, but my small son just seemed to know what buttons to push sometimes that made all my decades of training for naught.

But whatever trials to my patience Char subjected me to during the day, they were all forgotten when he lay in between Avrille and me at night, usually burying himself in the crook of my arm. He had refused to sleep in his own bed since the night the Dark Lord returned. Any attempt to cajole him into doing so resulted in the most heartrending spell of crying I had ever witnessed until I scooped him up out of his cot and deposited him in the centre of our bed, even if we weren't in it yet. Yet even once he had calmed and finally fallen asleep, oftentimes he still seemed fretful while he dreamed. Avrille was certain he was picking up on her worry and my stress, even though we tried our best to not project such negativity when Char was awake.

I felt guilty leaving Avrille behind to deal with Char, whose rambunctiousness was being compounded exponentially by his refusal to take his nap, but she was right in that I needed to be on my way. After departing our rooms, I took a while to meditate in the silence of my office, emptying my mind of all feelings and preparing it for whatever the Dark Lord might subject it to. When I felt reasonably collected, I walked to the school gates until I had passed through the thick protective barriers and was able to Disapparate.

I appeared deep in the forest bordering the Riddle estate. I could not fail to notice with annoyance that though most of the country was in the grips of a record-breaking drought, here it was pouring rain. Immediately, I cast an Impervius Charm over myself, which helped keep me dry as well as allow me to slip through the dense underbrush without having to worry about my robes catching on a tree limb and throttling me. I was glad I had already made this journey to the house once, for the rain was falling so heavily it would have been difficult otherwise to find my way. As it was, I arrived on the boundary of the Dark Lord's power after only a few minutes of walking. I stopped momentarily to raise my left arm, pulling back my sleeve to expose the skin beneath. The deathly grimace of the skull seemed to grin even wider as the Mark writhed and blackened while I stepped past the magical wall effortlessly. Once I was through, the Mark returned to its dormant state, unmoving and dusky grey.

I hurried over the windswept and soggy grounds, biting my cheek in aggravation the several times my feet sank into hidden pockets of soupy mud. I came upon and quickly left behind the abandoned stables and carriage house, any signs of horses long gone from the former and the latter only housing several luxury automobiles coated with rust. Rounding a bend in the drive, the crumbling brick manor house itself soon came into view, though the drizzling haze softened some of the rough edges collapsed masonry had left behind. It was still impossible to tell from the outside that anyone had once more taken up residence here. Though I was sure the Dark Lord must have had several fires lit due to the damp weather, the crooked chimneys blew forth no smoke and the flickering of a light could not be seen from any of the windows.

After climbing the few treacherously crumbling steps to the front door, I hesitated on the stoop to take one final moment to compose myself and clear my head. To anyone observing me, I would have merely appeared to be cleaning the mud from my shoes with my wand and shaking out the several droplets of water that had fallen onto my robes and hair before I had charmed myself impervious to them. Satisfied I was in complete control of my thoughts and emotions, I opened the magically-locked door with my wand and stepped a now pristine foot across the threshold into the foyer.

While the exterior of the house remained the same as when I had first beheld it that night several weeks ago, the inside had undergone a drastic transformation. Though the Dark Lord may have disdained his Muggle ancestors, he certainly was making the most of their former possessions, likely believing they were truly his anyway as the only surviving heir. Perhaps he hadn't cared much what the place had looked like while he was hiding here, smaller and weaker than a Muggle child, but now he had returned to full strength, he seemed determined that though he might be forced to live in secrecy at the moment, he would certainly live in luxury as well.

The grand foyer and the other rooms I could see from my position by the door had been fully restored to their previous Edwardian glory, no doubt unwillingly by Pettigrew, who was now going by the singular name of Wormtail. The dustcovers had been removed from all the furniture, which was arranged back into its respective stations in the various rooms with woods oiled, upholstery brushed, and glass shining. The electric fixtures had been ripped out of the walls and ceilings and replaced with sconces to hold hundreds of mage-candles. The window treatments and tapestries had either been replaced or expertly repaired since they were completely indistinguishable from their previous tattered and moth-eaten state.

Since no Wormtail had greeted me this time as I entered the house, doubtlessly because he was being kept busy somewhere, perhaps polishing the silver with his likewise magical appendage, I allowed the all-encompassing oppression of the Dark Lord's magic guide me to his location. I found him easily, biding his time in a drawing room near the back of the house. He was accompanied by Lucius and Selwyn, the former avoiding my eye as he sulked on a chaise and the latter staring back at me as he slouched against a wall with his usual brazen disregard for my appearance. The Dark Lord's giant snake, Nagini, lay curled on a slab of obsidian before the lit fire like some sort of obscene take on a lap cat.

The Dark Lord was standing at a high window with his back to me when I entered the drawing room. He appeared to be studying the sprawling garden that stretched from the back side of the house to a high hedged wall, merely an undefined, hulking shape in the misty rain, on its opposite side. Uncharacteristically for the property, the garden looked like it had been tended fastidiously in the recent past but was now wild around the edges with new growth.

Though he did not turn around as I entered the room, the Dark Lord said nevertheless, "I am … disappointed, Severus. I did not expect to see you return empty handed."

I bowed slightly to his back, feeling that to kneel would be to admit wrongdoing and the need for forgiveness. "Neither did I, my Lord, when you seemed so certain of these drawings' existence."

The Dark Lord did turn to me then, his red eyes narrowed to near slits. "Explain."

"I sought the plans from the Head of the Department of Wizarding Records and Magical Documents, Dermott Rogers. However, he claimed he had never seen or heard of such a thing. I asked him if it was possible he had overlooked them, given the extensive nature of the Ministry's archives. He assured me he was certain, having examined the drawings of Gaston Garnier personally many times in the past with Ministry workers needing to revitalise the spells built into the building's structure. I, of course, assumed he could be lying to me, but application of the Cruciatus Curse did not make him change his story. If Garnier ever drew plans of that part of his creation, he either destroyed them due to the inherent secretive nature of the Department of Mysteries, or the plans were lost a very long time ago."

The Dark Lord continued watching me suspiciously for a moment before saying, "How unfortunate. I trust you modified this man's memory? I would not like it getting out that you were interested in tracking those documents."

"Naturally, my Lord. I also would not like it getting out that I had tortured a Ministry employee," I replied with an ironic smile.

"Very well," he said with an impatient wave of his long fingered hand as though brushing the matter away. "That method of obtaining the information I seek has failed me. Fortunately, I have many others.

"Lucius."

Lucius jumped slightly at the Dark Lord's summons, no doubt still twitchy from the punishment he had been dealt for his missteps concerning the diary, and he hastened to my side. He fell into the same position as me, standing like a soldier "at ease" with my hands clasped behind my back. That is, the proper way to appear before the Dark Lord, giving him the subtle advantage should a need to draw wands arise, unlike Selwyn's lazing about like a common hooligan with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Selwyn snorted quietly behind us at both Lucius's sudden formal stance and the waver of uncertainty in his voice as he asked, "My Lord?"

"You will go to the Ministry and place the Imperius Curse on an Unspeakable. Choose one who is relatively unattached so there is little risk of any uncharacteristic actions of his being noticed. When you have done so, you will report back here," the Dark Lord commanded.

"Lucky you're so well-practiced in the Imperius Curse," I muttered to Lucius beside me. His face reddened at my words, knowing full well I was referring to the time he had placed it on Avrille while trying to seduce her, and he shot me a venomous look out of the corner of his eye.

"Lucky indeed, Severus, since _you_ are now of little use to me to spy at the Ministry." The Dark Lord's eyes whipped across to me like a lashing. It had been foolish of me to think he wouldn't overhear. I would not make that mistake again, no matter how tempting it was to hold that bit of information over Lucius's head. At least the Dark Lord did not seem to understand that I had been goading Lucius, perhaps assuming I was agreeing on his choice to infiltrate the Ministry. However, I had no idea what the Dark Lord had meant by his last comment. I had just, after all, finished explaining how well I had covered my tracks.

"With Dumbledore thrown out of the Wizengamot," the Dark Lord continued, unintentionally answering my unasked question, "it is likely the Ministry will be keeping a closer watch on those who are closely associated with him. In this instance, your supposed fellowship with Dumbledore is a hindrance to me."

Ah, so that was it. I kept my face impassive at the news of Professor Dumbledore's dismissal as though I wasn't just hearing about this now. I was, however, quite annoyed that the headmaster hadn't chosen to confide this bit of information to me when I had spoken with him earlier in the day. It was a rather glaring fact to not be party to when I was supposed to be keeping a close watch on his movements and habits both at Hogwarts and the Ministry.

The Dark Lord began to slowly pace back and forth behind a large sofa, running a white hand across the nap of the upholstery. His movement gave me the impression of a guard dog keeping a wary eye on us two immobile intruders.

"I'm not pleased I had to read of this in the_ Prophet_ this morning, instead of hearing it directly from you," the Dark Lord said to me dangerously, pausing his pacing and gesturing to the open paper lying on a side table. I heard Selwyn snigger quietly again behind me. Though I usually read the_ Daily Prophet_ every morning at breakfast, I had, regrettably, missed this morning's issue in my haste to meet with Professor Dumbledore. Fortunately, though Professor Dumbledore may have accidentally forgotten to arm me with that bit of information, I had been keeping up with the rumour mill myself so as to not be totally unprepared at moments like this one.

"My Lord did not give me a chance," I said, inclining my head deferentially to him, "in your haste to hear of my lack of success at the Ministry. Yes, the Wizengamot has voted him out, bowing to the pressure Cornelius Fudge is exerting on them. Some of the council members still obviously support Dumbledore, but they are in the minority to those who believe he is either trying to discredit Fudge to make his own bid for Minister or that he is simply losing his grip with old age." This much was easy to assume, and the Dark Lord didn't interrupt me to point out any errors, so I continued.

"Dumbledore is due very shortly to make an appearance at the annual convergence of the International Confederation of Wizards in Amsterdam. It is very likely, owing to his inability to keep his mouth shut, that he will suffer a similar fall from grace there."

The thought of further humiliation for his arch nemesis seemed to appease the Dark Lord's displeasure with me, and he laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, the old fool simply can't bite his tongue when the _truth_ is at stake. I shall expect you to find out the details of this convention as soon as he returns from it, Severus. I want to know exactly which _truths_ about me he is telling the world. See that I hear it from you before a reporter this time."

"Certainly, my Lord." That would be no easy task since many reporters were likely going to be swarming the convention on location in Amsterdam while I was back home at Hogwarts starting to prepare for the coming school year. I would have to ask the headmaster to send me word by Patronus the moment he had finished his speech.

The Dark Lord stepped from behind the sofa to stand before Lucius and me, as if to inspect us. I noticed that his feet below the hem of his black shantung robes were, as usual, bare and made no noise when placed carefully down on the hard wood floor with each purposeful step. I inwardly wondered if he could even feel the cold sinking into his skin, or if he was truly so serpent-like that he simply absorbed it. He stopped a pace in front of the pair of us, his hands hidden in the layers of his robes as he stood with crossed arms.

"I suppose it was only a matter of time before I had to decide on a new contact at the Ministry. You will soon be too busy once again moulding young minds, Severus, and it was perhaps foolish of me to think Dumbledore would prefer to work against me in the shadows. Fudge, with his delightful obstinacy, will certainly blacklist you soon. You have done well to prove yourself so loyal to Dumbledore in public appearance, but that is hardly useful to me at the moment. No, you would be put to best use by continuing to serve me as you have at Hogwarts. Perhaps once I have destroyed Dumbledore and brought the Ministry to its knees, we can find a more illustrious role for you than _teaching_." The Dark Lord said the last word with a sneer.

"I suppose I am forced to put my trust back in _you_," he said, rounding on Lucius beside me. "Walden will be leaving with Claudius for Liechtenstein tomorrow," he indicated at Selwyn, who continued to glower silently, "so he will be unable to be a presence for me in London. I'm sure you can find a good reason to visit the Ministry often, Lucius. The trustees of St. Mungo's Hospital would certainly appreciate a new wing, I would imagine. Let no one say in the future that Lord Voldemort did not provide for his people!"

Lucius gulped but was quick to mutter, "Yes, my Lord." I could see him trying to not mentally sum up how many hundreds of thousands of galleons that would set him back. How deliciously cruel of the Dark Lord to hit Lucius where it truly hurt him most.

"You have your assignment, Lucius. Return to me when it is completed." The Dark Lord swivelled and glided over the floor to look out the window again. The rain seemed to be lessening somewhat. I was now able at least to see the dark, hazy outline of the forest behind the house. Lucius bowed to the Dark Lord's back, then pulled his cloak more tightly together and hurried out, doubtless before he could be asked to make any more contributions to wizarding social welfare.

"Don't you have some preparations to make, Claudius?" the Dark Lord asked Selwyn pointedly. "Though you might want to pack light. I can't imagine climbing mountains while dragging a trunk behind you would be very enjoyable. But be sure to leave room for my gifts to the Gurg. I entrusted them to Walden already."

Ah, so that's why Selwyn had been gracing me with his glare of death ever since I entered the room. It appeared my invented taunt from the other night had inadvertently hit very close to the mark. I wouldn't be very happy if I was being sent to court the favour of the giants, either. I wondered what Macnair and Selwyn had done to anger the Dark Lord enough to send them on such a dangerous mission. But perhaps he simply believed it right up Macnair's alley, with his familiarity of dealing with dangerous creatures, and though Selwyn had never given me a reason to like him, he left me with the impression that he was a formidable magic user himself. At the very least, they were going to have a much easier time of it than Hagrid and Madam Maxime, who I knew Professor Dumbledore had dispatched to parley with the giants as soon as the previous school year had ended.

Selwyn turned on his heel and stormed from the room without acknowledging the Dark Lord's words. Perhaps he believed himself above such trivial formalities, having served the Dark Lord for years before his downfall, but it certainly wasn't the way I would personally have chosen to behave. I knew the Dark Lord did not easily forgive and forget, and as one of the Death Eaters who never made the effort to seek his whereabouts after his downfall, I preferred to err on the side of utmost respect.

However, Selwyn's insolence seemed to merely amuse the Dark Lord since he chuckled coldly to himself once Selwyn had slammed the door shut behind him. Nagini raised her head and hissed angrily at the sudden noise. She resettled herself after her master hissed back a few words in Parseltongue, slithering around in a circle a few times and once more bringing to mind the idea of a cat disturbed from an enjoyable nap.

The Dark Lord once more moved from his look-out spot by the window to stand by the fireplace instead. Though he walked on two legs, the fluidity of his movement made it appear he was slithering through the room like his pet, who was now once more asleep on her warm stone slab by his feet.

"Sit, Severus," he bade me, indicating a winged armchair by the fire several feet to his right. I did as he asked, wondering what more he could have to say to me after he had virtually declared me only fit to remain cloistered at the school and spy on the headmaster; though, in actuality, he probably still considered that the most useful thing a Death Eater could do for him. Skulking around the Ministry throwing Imperius Curses around or scrambling over mountainsides certainly had their places in his grand scheme, but deep down he must have still been very fearful of what Professor Dumbledore knew in regards to the Prophecy that he himself did not.

"Would you care for a drink?" he asked, and before I could answer, a few measures of amber liquid appeared midair before me. I caught the crystal glass before it could fall into my lap, the Dark Lord smiling tightly at my deft reflexes. It was not in my habit to have a drink at two o'clock in the afternoon and certainly not one given to me by the most dangerous wizard alive conjured from who knows where. However, I had done very well so far to prove to him that I had nothing to hide, and there was no way I could safely refuse it without raising his suspicions. He did not partake himself. I had never in the past seen the Dark Lord eat or drink anything. I wasn't even sure if he was still human enough to need physical sustenance.

I brought the glass up to my nose and inhaled, hoping it wouldn't be too obvious that I was trying to detect if anything had been added to it. Of course it would be impossible to discern any taste or smell of Veritaserum, but I highly doubted the Dark Lord would attempt to slip me something of that nature. He would, undoubtedly, find the idea of relying on something as base and fallible as a potion beneath him when he had a much more reliable method of discovering deception with his mastery of Legilimency.

To cover the movement I had made, I asked him, "Rogozhin's?" I had lucked out immensely, the Dark Lord having offered me inadvertently my dead father's favourite spirit. Growing up, I had smelt it on him and around the house too much not to recognise with certainty his poison of choice.

"Indeed," the Dark Lord confirmed, obviously impressed. I raised the glass and downed the pertsovka in one swig, trying very hard to look as though I had enjoyed it and not show how the smell and taste of the peppers made me want to vomit.

"I wasn't aware it was still being made," I commented, slightly hoarsely since the alcohol had set the back of my throat on fire, and placed the empty glass on a fragile, inlaid stone table beside me. I remembered well an incident that had occurred when I was about fifteen of my father breaking his valet's jaw when the man reported he would no longer be able to obtain that particular brand for him.

"It isn't. The distillery was razed to the ground by wizards sympathetic to the Muggle Bolsheviks with Rogozhin and his workers still inside. Perhaps he shouldn't have supplied so often to Rasputin."

Suddenly he turned to me and commanded, "Give me your wand, Severus." I only hesitated a moment before mutely reaching into my robes and pulling out my wand. The Dark Lord reached for it lazily, then made a great show of studying it in the firelight. First I was expected to consume an unknown drink without question and now hand over my only means of defending myself? I certainly hoped that if the Dark Lord had been harbouring any lingering qualms over my devotion, I had finally put them to rest.

"Cherry, is it not?" he asked, running a long, pale finger along the length of the wood.

"Yes, my Lord," I replied, forcing myself to act completely natural as though I handed over the key to my magical powers every day to Dark wizards. I tried not to think about how the last time I was wandless in the presence of a Dark creature, I had barely escaped with my life.

"Around eleven inches?"

"Twelve and a half," I corrected him respectfully.

"Yes, it feels nearly the same length as mine," he agreed as he waved it through the air in a couple graceful arcs. To my wand's credit, it didn't emit even a spark for him.

"And the core?"

"Dragon heartstring."

The Dark Lord raised a hairless brow. "Cherry and dragon heartstring? Quite a formidable combination. I was under the impression Ollivander refuses to work with cherry. Something about the wood being too temperamental."

"I believe you are correct, my Lord. However, my wand was in fact crafted by Masamune Atsushi of the Sakurai wand-crafting house in Kyoto as a personal favour for my mother's family."

This was in essence true. Masamune did craft my wand, but he had actually made it for my grandfather, Edmund Greyadder, not me, to replace his original that had been destroyed when he saved Masamune's life in a duel with a rival wand-maker. The fact that my wand was nearly a century old made it even more powerful, something I did not think the Dark Lord needed to be apprised of. Edmund and Masamune had gone to school together, my great-grandparents having sent him to Mahoutokoro since it was apparently all the rage in England at the time for rich, young wizards to have a foreign magical education (my mother once told me he had tried to send her there, as well, instead of Hogwarts, but she had steadfastly refused, citing her certainty that she would die if forced to subsist merely on raw fish and rice for seven years). My mother had presented me with her father's wand on my eleventh birthday, telling me he had stipulated in his will that he wanted to be entombed with a replica so his true wand could be passed on to his daughter's future heir. Her entrusting me with such a priceless family heirloom was one of the proudest moments of my life.

The Dark Lord held my wand out to me. I leaned forward in the chair to accept it gratefully. Sitting back, I waited in silence to see what more the Dark Lord required of me. He remained standing in front of the hearth for some time. Nagini must have sensed her master's presence in her sleep, for she raised her diamond-shaped head to his hand and nudged it until he started stroking it sensually. Finding the interaction rather indecent, I averted my gaze to a portrait hanging above the mantle. Because this was a Muggle house, its subject sat frozen in his chair, similar to the one I was currently occupying.

While I studied the curious Muggle fashions the man in the portrait was wearing, I wondered to myself what was coming next. I half expected to be tortured again, not trusting this strange sense of intimacy the Dark Lord seemed to be trying to cultivate between us. I was feeling no ill effects from the pertsovka, besides a lingering burning sensation in my stomach, so it had likely been simply a drink. Maybe the Dark Lord merely thought I might enjoy such a rare "treat." It was inconceivable that he would ever apologise to one of his subordinates, but perhaps he had offered the drink as a sort of conciliatory gesture after having tortured a "loyal" Death Eater several weeks ago. Now that he was sure Professor Dumbledore wasn't keeping silent about his return, he truly did need to be in my good graces for the time being. Of course he knew the threat of certain death should I desert would keep me loyal to him, but it didn't necessarily mean I would work my hardest if I felt I was being mistreated.

His seemingly arbitrary examination of my wand was slightly more explainable. I had heard, of course, of the extraordinary singularity that had occurred between his wand and Potter's in the graveyard the night of his resurrection. The Dark Lord had no way of knowing Potter's wand shared a core with his own, and I certainly wasn't about to enlighten him to the fact. It seemed he was unfamiliar with the phenomenon of Priori Incantatem, most likely considering anything beyond the most basic study of wand lore to be of little importance to him. After all, his own wand had never failed to do his every bidding up until the night he was unable to kill Potter, so what else did he need to know? But now I was sure he was desperate for an explanation as to why his wand had once again failed to work against the boy. Perhaps that was why he was attempting to bribe me with exorbitant vodka and allowing me the great honour of sitting in his presence while he stood. He was painfully aware that no other Death Eater had as much interaction with Potter as I had since he returned to the magical community four years ago.

Right on cue with my deductions, the Dark Lord swept himself into a chair facing me and asked, "Tell me about the Potter boy."

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. "There is hardly anything worth telling, my Lord. He is his father's son; brash, arrogant, exceptional only in the far reachings of his mediocrity. He believes his fame for defeating you gives him the right to break school rules left and right, not to mention being allowed to perform underage magic wantonly and disregard the Statute of Secrecy. Such laws are clearly not intended for _celebrities_." I sneered the last word, just as how the Dark Lord had shown such disdain for my chosen profession. I finally broke off my intense eyeing of the portrait to venture a glance at the Dark Lord's face. He seemed to be eating up my deprecating account of Potter with relish.

"He is not a good student, then?" he asked sardonically as Nagini slid over to rest her head on his lap.

"I cannot speak for his other classes since I'm not party to his marks, but for my own part, I can report with confidence that he lacks the concentration and attention to detail to ever create anything beyond the scope of the most elementary potion. Whatever "great" feats Dumbledore believes he has accomplished, such as preventing you from obtaining the Philosopher's Stone, were merely the result of cunningly surrounding himself with cleverer, more talented friends or allowing accomplished wizards to clear the way for him. I confess I am greatly looking forward to next year when I can finally exclude him from my instruction."

"So there is nothing the boy excels at?" the Dark Lord asked, perhaps fishing for information that would explain how Potter had managed to escape a second time when he was completely surrounded by Death Eaters. I knew it would be slightly unbelievable if I painted Potter to be completely incompetent at everything, so I searched my mind for a safe talent to disclose.

"Quidditch," I admitted grudgingly. "He's a good flier."

The Dark Lord nodded but asked me no more. I hoped I had convinced him of Potter's normality. The less he appeared to be a rival to the Dark Lord's powers, the longer we in the Order might be able to keep him alive. A commonplace, though lucky, boy was less of an immediate threat than one with budding talent that could, if unchecked, explode into a power to be reckoned with under the tutelage of the instructors at Hogwarts. I didn't think it would be difficult to continue to report truthfully that Potter was just barely scraping by with his marks. I couldn't deny he did indeed have an unusually natural gift with magic, especially for one not raised in the magical community as a child, but he was certainly not making the most of it in his day to day schoolwork. If only he would apply himself with the same amount of flashy gusto he put forth into trying to singlehandedly save the school every single year, I would be dreading less having to read the rubbish he was bound to throw at me this coming term in his O.W.L. preparatory work.

"I have an additional task for you, Severus." The Dark Lord's words brought my attention back to him for me to see that he was now considering the portrait over the mantelpiece thoughtfully while running a finger across his fleshless lips in distraction. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing it were possible to perform Legilimency on _him_ instead. Yet, perhaps not, for could one ever really be the same again after seeing first-hand the depths of his soullessness?

"Along with Dumbledore, I want you to keep a close watch on Potter this year," he continued. "I have decided to be merciful and will not pursue him for the time being. There will be plenty of time to deliver him to his predetermined fate once the old codger has been dealt his."

Merciful my foot. The Dark Lord was petrified of moving against Potter while he lived safely under Professor Dumbledore's protection at Hogwarts. But acting the dutiful servant, I edited my inner monologue, saying only, "I am yours to command, my Lord. With regards to the boy, is there anything in particular you wish for me to keep an eye out for?"

"No." The Dark Lord eyed me askance, Nagini also raising her head once more to hiss slightly in my direction as though saying her master might trust me, but she certainly didn't. "If he is as unremarkable as you have described him, there shouldn't be anything of note to report anyway, should there? Watch him closely, but do so unobtrusively." Ironically, that was practically the same sentence the headmaster had spoken to me four years ago when Potter was first entering Hogwarts. "Your obvious, though rightfully placed, dislike of the boy will make it suspicious if you take a sudden public interest in him this year. I take it he has no knowledge of your service to me in the past?"

"Certainly not, my Lord," I said, sounding affronted he would even suggest such a thing. "It's not as if I go around pulling up my sleeve and displaying my Mark for the world to see."

The Dark Lord laughed coldly. "Of course not, Severus, of course not. I was merely making sure since it seems the whelp has an unusually detailed knowledge of what goes on behind the scenes at the school. It must be those cleverer friends of his you spoke of. They will, of course, also be dealt with appropriately when the time comes.

"You may go," the Dark Lord said, waving the back of his hand towards me. "I shall likely summon you again once more before the end of summer since I know you will be kept busy managing the affairs of my great ancestor's House once your new term begins in September. You need not report to me in person until then unless you obtain information of sufficient importance. Since the Ministry will most likely be watching you from now on, I do not want you visiting this property often."

"As you command, my Lord," I said, standing and bowing to him as he once more flitted his long-nailed fingertips at me a few times to confirm my dismissal. As I left the drawing room, the sound of the Dark Lord singing a quiet refrain in Parseltongue followed me out the door as though he was lulling Nagini back to sleep on his lap. Suppressing a revolted shudder, I walked briskly from the house, no volleying of insults with fellow Death Eaters impeding my departure this time.

Outside, the high summer sun had finally pierced the slowly dissipating rainclouds to blanket the Riddle estate with an oppressively humid warmth. I raised a hand to shield my eyes until they adjusted to the sudden brightness and crossed the cracked paved drive, my quick pace blowing the steaming clouds of evaporation away to swirl back together behind me and shimmer as heat haze. Of course the grass was still sopping wet, so I recast my previous Impervius Charm, this time taking care it extended down around my shoes as well. Though the wind had mostly died down, an unfortunate thing since a light breeze would have helped make the walk back to the Disapparation point less unpleasant, a stray gust would occasionally blow through the trees once I had re-entered the forest and send a shower of fat droplets down to slip off my charmed exterior.

Though I was protected from the aftereffects of the morning's rain outwardly, I still found myself damp and sticky with sweat by the time I had left the Dark Lord's wards far behind me. I became so overheated that I stopped in between two dripping oak trees to peel off my outer robes, exasperated with this summer's aberrant weather patterns. But even after removing the extraneous layer of clothing and rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, I still arrived back at Hogwarts with my hair clinging to the back of my neck and toying with the tempting notion I seemed to have around this time every year of taking up a silver dagger and hacking all of it off. Unfortunately, I didn't think Avrille would be very happy with me if I did so.

At least the slightly brisk highland breeze coursing off the lake refreshed my wilted mood, and by the time I had walked back up to the front doors of the castle, I found myself actually a bit chilled. I stopped on the threshold and donned my robes before entering the castle once more properly attired. As per my usual practise following a meeting with the Dark Lord, I proceeded straight to Professor Dumbledore's office to present him with the report due _him_. He was still sitting at his desk right where I had left him earlier in the day. Though a slight dent had been made in the piles of parchment and newspapers stacked around him, it was apparent the summer holiday would provide the headmaster with no time for relaxation this year.

I recounted my most recent venture to the Riddle House almost word for word, my years of mental exercises making my powers of recollection fairly more detailed and accurate than most men's. Professor Dumbledore was dismayed to hear of Macnair's and Selwyn's upcoming excursion to seek out the giants, though he was optimistic Madam Maxime and Hagrid had been given enough of a head start to discover the giants' location before the Death Eaters. At the very least, the pair were slowly making their way to the Ural Mountains, where the last reports of giant sightings had come from, instead of the Alps like Macnair and Selwyn, a range no giant had resided in since the Dark Lord's first downfall.

Professor Dumbledore also knew there was little the Order could do about Lucius's appointed task of finding an Unspeakable to Imperius besides asking those members employed at the Ministry to keep a discreet lookout for suspicious behaviour. We had no one in the Order working in the Department of Mysteries, and any attempt to warn the Unspeakables, even if we were able to ascertain all of their identities, would at best be brushed off and at worst cause reports to be filed against Order Ministry workers with Fudge's office. I knew Professor Dumbledore was planning on setting Order members to guard the door to the Department of Mysteries later in the summer when Potter was moved to the Weasley house and their around-the-clock presence was no longer required in Surrey.

Professor Dumbledore agreed with my deduction that the Dark Lord's interest in my wand probably stemmed from his burning need to discover why his own was disobeying him so stubbornly around Potter. His order for me to watch Potter closely this year came as no surprise to the headmaster, and he held no qualms that I could fulfil the duty most competently, having already been keeping an indiscernible eye on the boy at his own bequest ever since Potter first step foot in the castle.

He did also apologise profusely for not making sure I was properly apprised of his situation regarding the Wizengamot during our earlier conference. The highly understandable burden he was shouldering, virtually singlehandedly trying to force the wizarding world to open its eyes and dispel its deadly blindness to the Dark Lord's resurrection, had simply pushed the matter from his mind at the wrong moment. He assured me nothing of that nature would ever happen again and promised I would be the first to know the reaction to his upcoming oration to the International Confederation of Wizards. He pulled out a final draft of the speech itself from under one of the tottering piles of parchment and gave it to me to study at my leisure.

My report concluded, I accepted Professor Dumbledore's heartfelt gratitude for my continued assistance to the Order before letting him return to his work and making my way back down to the castle dungeons. I hoped Avrille's afternoon with Char had improved after I had left. It seemed lately he was growing almost jealous of me and tended to act out more when I was present. I suppose going from only seeing his father several evenings a week to having to share his mother with me all day long and through the night was a bit of a difficult adjustment for him.

I waited impatiently for the moving staircase I had become trapped on between the second and third floors to dock at its next scheduled landing point. Though I normally enjoyed the quaint peculiarities of the castle like the shifting staircases, I rather wished the headmaster would disable them when the students were away for the summer. Just once I would like to go somewhere directly without having to worry about rerouting myself several times to make it there on-time. Pushing off from the marble balustrade I had been leaning against as the staircase came to a grinding halt, I debated once more like the other night how much information I should pass on to Avrille concerning my meeting with the Dark Lord. Since her not-very-surprising defiance yesterday of my wishes that she stay far away from Order business, I still hadn't discussed any such things with her, even though she was now officially cleared to hear it. She would obviously have to be told something. Though it had been motivated by a desire to protect her, my previous reticence with Avrille had driven her to do something even more rash than she probably would have if apprised with more details about my own assignments.

When I arrived back at my rooms, I was thankful to see Avrille was alone, sitting in an armchair by the hearth and reading—or rather holding a open book on her lap while staring blankly into the fire. Our closed bedroom door stood as a testament that she had somehow subdued Char's boisterousness long enough to put him down for his overdue nap. Her eyes shot over to me as I stepped into the light, perhaps being too lost in her reverie to hear me opening the door, and relief washed tense lines from her fair face. Tossing her book aside, Avrille ran to me and pulled me into a surprisingly crushing embrace before I even had a chance to fully enter the room. I welcomed her attack wholeheartedly. I wouldn't say that we had been distant with each other after our slight confrontation at headquarters the day before, but I had regretfully left her behind earlier in the day feeling as though we still hadn't been fully reconciled.

Ever since I had resumed my previous employment of being the Order's resident spy, I noticed two things resulted from my face-to-face meetings with the Dark Lord each time without fail. The first was that I always found my senses to be slightly heightened for a period afterwards. This arose perhaps from having to rely so completely on my powers of observation when speaking with the Dark Lord to help keep me alive, whether by correctly ascertaining the moment when his mood shifted imperceptibly or even simply by keeping one eye always on where his right hand was in relation to his wand. I once again noticed the same sensitivity as my thoughts were suddenly brought back to my graduate school days in Italy by the faint scent of marinara as I kissed Avrille's forehead. The source of my non-sequiturial reminiscence became apparent as I noticed near her temple a streak of true tomato-red gumming up a small section of her otherwise shimmering, silky russet hair.

This temporary keenness also made it impossible for me not to notice that Avrille had changed from one frock into another, the previous most likely having fallen victim to some sort of pasta catastrophe stemming from Char "eating" his lunch, since the more recent choice was of a slightly elastic fabric that clung to her recently regained figure in such a way that made me quite glad I was no longer sharing certain parts of her with Char. It's slightly difficult to wholly enjoy taking a full measure of your wife knowing the curves you're currently admiring are viewed as supper by your infant son.

The second inadvertent outcome that usually arose from the casting off of my Death Eater façade was the inexplicable, burning need to fully possess Avrille the moment I saw her again. But perhaps that wasn't so strange. I imagine after spending a solid hour in the presence of the closest thing in existence to Death personified would tend to make a man eager to reaffirm his own virility at the first presenting opportunity. The way that Avrille was currently dragging her fingers through my hair as she kissed me fiercely, besides reminding me instantly why I grudgingly suffered through the discomfort of the summer months in order to keep it long for her, ignited that particular aftereffect to such a mind-numbing degree that I found myself grasping blindly and furtively for the zipper pull on the back of her dress before I had even removed my school robes.

Avrille paused her ferocious kissing just long enough to ask me, "Shower or couch?" as she hastened to rid me of my bothersome outerwear. Since Char had weeks ago put his small foot down and refused to nap anywhere except in the dead centre of our bed, those were usually our only two options when desiring a quick rendezvous with each other before he awakened.

"Shower, I think," I replied, thinking of my own sweaty walk away from the Riddle House and reinforcing my point by running a finger over the dried sauce in Avrille's hair. She broke off unbuttoning my shirt for a moment to pass a hand over the section of clumped strands then rolled her eyes.

"Shower," she agreed, kissing me once more quickly before grabbing my hand and literally pulling me across the parlour behind her to the closed doors of our bedroom. I smiled to myself in complete contentment as Avrille led me carefully through the dark space where our son lay peacefully sleeping and into the bath, muffling her giggles with her free hand like a student sneaking out after curfew. I will not delve into the particulars of our reunion except to say that Char slept just long enough.

Author's Note: _It's very against my usual practice to put a note at the end of nearly every chapter, feeling it interrupts the flow of the story, but since this is a WIP, I feel like it's good to update the (three or so, very appreciated :D) readers as to what's going on with this novel. This is likely to be the last chapter for a little while, maybe even until the summer. Hopefully circumstances in my personal life will have rearranged themselves back to normal then, and I'll have much more time to write. I'm not expecting the majority of upcoming chapters to be as long as these first few, where I needed to get a lot of introductory information conveyed before switching POVs, so hopefully once I'm able to get back into the swing of things, updates will come much more quickly._

_If you haven't left a review yet, please do! I'm fairly sure you can even leave one anonymously. Feedback is so appreciated, and it helps me to keep improving as a writer. I'm very quick to reply to reviews and usually write back with way more info than you probably needed ;)_


	5. Chapter Five: AVRILLE

CHAPTER FIVE

_Avrille_

If I had expected Severus to instantly open up to me after his meeting with the Dark Lord just because I was now a member of the Order, then I would have been very disappointed. However, knowing Severus so well, my hopes of this happening were slim to none, so I wasn't bothered at all when on his return he said absolutely nothing about what had transpired during his most recent trip out to the Riddle estate. Even more to the point, I found talking to be the last thing I wanted to do for the forty-five minutes or so we had alone before Char woke up from his nap. At least the surge of desire that rushed through me when I saw Severus was home again, safe and unharmed, wasn't tinged with guilt this time as it had been the night of the Dark Lord's resurrection. I was pleasantly surprised to see that, far from looking half-dead like that horrible night, Severus now returned to me exuding an air of confidence I had not sensed from him ever since the moment the Dark Mark first burned on his arm during the tournament. The self-assuredness I saw in his posture alone when he stepped into the room convinced me instantly that not only would he probably not mind if I shamelessly indulged in some of my bored housewife fantasies and had my way with him, but also, against all odds, things seemed to be actually going well with his spying for the Order.

But even if Severus had been toying with any thoughts of finally telling me something about his mysterious meetings with the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters, he was never given the opportunity to bring up the subject. Having occurred so late in the day, Char's long nap unfortunately did nothing for his mood. He seemed determined to whine from the very instant he woke up until bedtime, nothing appeasing his petulance except cuddling with me on the couch while clutching his bear and shooting Severus dirty looks if he dared to come within ten feet of us. I know I probably shouldn't have been tolerating such behaviour toward his father, but Severus and I had both agreed when we moved back into the castle to give Char a bit more leeway than we normally would to help ease him into his new environment and routine. Not to mention the withering glares Char kept giving his father were, frankly, hilarious and seemed just a bit like poetic justice for the long lines of petrified first years from school terms past who had, probably undeservedly, been on the receiving end of my husband's signature annoyed glowers from the very moment they alighted the Hogwarts Express.

I thought perhaps Severus would confide in me once we were alone after Char's bedtime, but he remained silent. I let him be, not wanting to push my luck by asking for information when he seemed to be truly not angry about the whole blatantly disregarding his wishes and joining the Order thing. I figured he would come around in his own time if left alone. We spent the evening sitting quietly together, reading and discussing "safe" topics like interesting articles in the latest academic journals and the upcoming new school year, especially Professor Dumbledore's unsurprising shooting down of Severus's most recent attempt to leave his current job and take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. However, Severus refused to disclose who had been hired instead, stating that he was still far too insulted to discuss the topic in greater detail. I supposed I would simply have to either find out from someone else or wait to see for myself once the new year started.

When our conversation lulled, Severus turned back to the book he had been reading. I watched him discreetly out of the corner of my eye, wondering why he kept applying for a position he must know he'd almost certainly never get. I also wasn't sure why he was so tenacious in his attempts to ditch Potions instruction when his brilliance in the subject was world-renowned. I thought perhaps he felt a sense of duty to at least try to obtain the position as some kind of reparation for the brief time he had served the Dark Lord in earnest before starting his career.

Severus let go of his book for a moment to rub distractedly at his left forearm as though his Dark Mark was irritating him under his shirtsleeve. I'd seen him do a similar motion several times since the Dark Lord's resurrection. Never in public, of course, since he purposefully chose every single word and gesture with the utmost care when around other people, but sometimes when it was just the two of us alone, and he was more relaxed, his guard would slip. Seeing his unconscious discomfort, I thought maybe he hoped that, given the chance to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, he might be able to better influence the students and keep one or two of them from making the same mistakes he had, mistakes he was still paying for dearly to this day.

It took over two weeks of waiting for Severus to finally acknowledge my new role as a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, but eventually my patience was rewarded. Since summer had begun, I'd been shamelessly wheedling him to allow us to go on some sort of outing as a family, knowing a true vacation was out of the question given the current precariousness of our situation. Indeed, for a long time, Severus was against us going anywhere at all since he was very concerned about not wanting to give any Death Eater possibly keeping tabs on him cause to consider even for a moment he was trying to flee. After valiantly enduring three straight days of pouting from both Char and myself, Severus finally relented and agreed a day trip to the seaside of his childhood home could hardly be taken out of context.

We left directly following breakfast after ordering a picnic lunch from the kitchens, which Severus then sent ahead to the beach since it was still easier for him to bypass the protective enchantments he had set on the property long ago. After slathering three layers of a sun-screening potion over every inch of Char's pale skin, we left the castle and Disapparated once through the gates to instantly appear outside the equally towering iron gates of Greyadder House. It took Severus literally seconds to temporarily peel aside the layer of magic keeping the gates inaccessible to us, unlike the hours it had taken me last time I was in this location.

Though it had been his practice in the past to return here every year right before Christmas to take care of the property and his mother's grave on the anniversary of her death, as far as I knew, Severus hadn't been back once since we left here together over two years ago following his imprisonment in his father's tomb. This past December and the previous one, I had asked Severus if he was going to make his annual pilgrimage. Both times he found excuses to postpone it, seemingly indefinitely. The first year he had cited my looming delivery of Char as the reason and his wish to be right at hand in the meantime while Sirius Black was on the loose. The second time it was because of the extra pressure the he and the other teachers were under with preparations for the Yule Ball, as well as Karkaroff's presence in the school. All of his justifications were legitimate, but I still wondered if it was healthy for Severus to give this place even more power over him by avoiding it instead of working through his past trauma and facing it head-on.

But maybe that was what drove Severus to suggest our coming here now, in the middle of summer with his family by his side. Indeed, Severus didn't appear to be the least bit uncomfortable and was evening smiling as he pointed out to Char the names and properties of plants we passed as we slowly crossed the verdant park, many of which he hadn't seen since he was practically a boy himself since he only ever came here in the beginning of desolate winter. As it had been such a long time since he'd last checked on his mother's gravesite, Severus understandably wanted to make a stop there before we headed down to the beach. I was also looking forward to visiting Charlotte's grave, if that's the right way to word it, because I wanted Char to finally "meet" his grandmother and namesake. He must have had a vague notion in his toddler mind of who she was. I often showed him her picture and faithfully told him every single night before bed how much she loved him, just as I had sworn to do after the last remnants of Charlotte's spirit helped me save her son's life.

When the grave under the chestnut tree came into view, Severus instantly bemoaned its ragged, overgrown state and vowed to return when he had more time to truly take care of it. He probably could have easily put things to rights with a few wand sweeps, but I knew he preferred to tend to it manually as a sign of respect. I offered to bring Char on ahead so he could do some work now and maybe have a few moments of quiet for reflection, but Severus shook his head and said it could wait whereas he'd never have another chance to watch our son's reaction to seeing the sea for the first time. So we made our way down behind the back of the house, fortunately in a different direction from the family mortuaries, which neither Severus nor I were in any hurry to view. The gentle slope of the lush lawns quickly gave way to a small but wild stretch of forest thick with surprisingly ancient-looking beech, oak and ash trees. Severus did pull out his wand at this point to clear a way through the almost completely overgrown path while I followed, carrying Char to keep him from getting caught up in the few stubborn creepers that refused to be forced aside. After only a few minutes of walking, we broke through the other side of the tree line and were greeted by the breathtaking sight of the late morning sun sparkling off the English Channel.

Char could barely contain himself at the sight of the waves below him and kept trying to pull his hand from mine as I guided him down the steep, crumbly path of sandstone and clay to the beach. I finally released him at the bottom of the cliff to totter unsteadily through the rocky sand to the very edge of the water, of course only after Severus had assured me that because this stretch of water was in a sheltered bay, Char was perfectly safe from the numerous things driving my mommy-brain in overactive protection mode like undertows, poisonous jellyfish, hammerhead sharks, and marauding pirates. My mind was eased even further with the realization that Char was unlikely to go past his ankles since the cold water rushing over his feet made him turn tail and run back to us crying. Severus laughed as he scooped up our son, who was already demanding by vigorous pointing to be brought back over to the water, as long as he was about five feet higher this time. I found I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard Severus laugh, and the sound of it calmed me greatly.

It took a while for Char to consent to be put down. However, after a few minutes of Severus bending over yet holding him high up enough to let his feet dangle a bit in the waves (I made a mental note to massage Severus's probably aching back once Char was asleep later), Char decided the beach wasn't so bad after all. Severus stood guard over him as he ran splashily back and forth through the surf foam, picking up treasures and stashing them in his pocket for later like broken pieces of shell and dried-out crab carapaces. I lay out a blanket on the smoothest patch of sand I could find and dropped down on it to catch a bit of sunshine while listening to the roar of the sea drowning out my son's delighted squeals. Though I certainly didn't want to burn, my skin felt ravenous for the light. I had gotten used to having plenty of sunshine while living in our Hogsmeade cottage, and this transition to living in the dungeons again seemed a bit harder than before in that respect. Maybe it was because I had a subtle feeling of actually being trapped down there now, even more so than when we wrongly believed Sirius Black was trying to break into the school to kill Harry Potter.

The fresh scent of the salty, seaweedy air, the feel of the gusting coastal breeze blowing off the waves through my hair, and the cackling cries of the gulls around us made me realize just how much I had missed the sea, as well. Growing up near Yarmouth in Nova Scotia, then spending much of my adolescence and early adulthood in New England, there was barely a time in my life before coming to Hogwarts where I wasn't near the ocean. I hadn't noticed this sense of loss until now. I wouldn't exactly call it homesickness, because I truly felt my home was wherever Severus and Char were, but it still left me a bit wistful.

But mothers can't be allowed to indulge in luxuries like nostalgia. Char was kind enough to remind me of this by dropping two handfuls of freezing wet mud onto my stomach while my eyes were closed. My shriek from the cold and Severus's yelled reprimand from behind him instantly brought a quiver to Char's lower lip, but I was able to distract him from crying again by handing him a piece of sea-glass I had found earlier as I scooped wet sand off of me with my other hand to fling it away.

"Forgive me," Severus said as he rushed over. "For some idiotic reason, I thought he was going to build a sandcastle."

I raised my eyebrows at him as I pulled out my wand to dry the saturated spot on my sundress. "Yeah, that was a bit silly considering he's never even seen one before."

"Somehow that makes me feel like a horrible father," Severus commented, dropping down on the blanket beside me and brushing sand from his hands.

"I'll make sure to inform the proper authorities of your neglect as soon as we're back home," I replied solemnly and patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm serious. I can't believe I haven't brought him to the beach until now. I'm sure my mother had me out here the day I was born."

"In the middle of January?" I asked with a bit of scepticism.

"Well, perhaps a few months later," Severus admitted, "but earlier than this, certainly."

"We _were_ a bit busy last summer with the Ministry inquest, buying a house, and preparations for the tournament," I reminded him. "Not to mention Char only started sleeping through the night about three months ago."

"I know. I just …" Severus stared off across the water, his eyes squinted in the bright sunshine creating the traces of several lines I'd never noticed before on his face. "Sometimes I just wish I hadn't chosen to shoulder so much responsibility before I met you." I wasn't sure if he was referring to his duties at Hogwarts or his past decisions regarding the Dark Lord and the Order, though the slight slump of his shoulders made me guess it was the latter.

"Come on," I said, grasping his arm and pulling him up with me as I stood. I knew I had to distract Severus before he began wallowing in guilt over things that couldn't be changed now. "We'd better start remedying the deficiency in Char's sandcastle education before any more time passes."

The hard set of Severus's expression softened somewhat as he followed me over to where Char was crouching on a barnacle-crusted stretch of breakwater rocks, poking globs of stringy seaweed in a tidal pool with a stick of driftwood. He was still clutching the smoky-green shard of sea-glass I had given him tightly in his other dimpled fist. Severus finally smiled as Char handed the sea-glass to him, trusting his father to safeguard his priceless artefact so he could smack at the sun-warmed water of the tidal pool with an open palm.

Once the pool stopped holding Char's interest captive, we led him over to some damp sand the retreating tide had left behind to show him how a sandcastle was made. We didn't have any proper shovels or pails since neither of us knew where we would conjure such a thing from without accidentally stealing from a Muggle store, and we didn't have anything suitable to try and transfigure, so Severus Summoned over an old set of cooking spoons and pots from the house's kitchens. After a good hour of unrelenting effort to convince Char to stop dumping out the pots full of sand before we had them even halfway full, and to _please_ not step all over the one standing mould we _had_ managed to erect successfully, Severus and I decided it was a bit of a lost cause and agreed we'd just try again next year.

By then it was past noon, and all three of us were ravenous; I had forgotten how much the sea air awakened one's appetite. After Summoning the picnic basket, I looked around a little hopelessly for a bit of shade since the sun's heat was already searing, even with the breeze. Severus said that if Char and I could bear to wait just a little longer, he had a place in mind for us to eat that would probably also keep Char's interest for the rest of the afternoon. Intrigued, I let him take the basket of food to send to the mystery place while I held Char's hand and followed him up the beach a ways.

The stretch of sand we had been occupying soon gave way to rough jumbles of reddish rocks, fallen down from the nearly sheer cliff face that had blocked our view of the rest of the cove. Once we had carefully stepped through the uneven and slippery terrain to turn the bend around the cliff, I was amazed to see an old stone lighthouse before us, situated at the end of a long jetty of enormous rocks.

At the sight of the lighthouse, Char instantly tried to bolt away from me to charge headlong at it, so I had to take a moment to wrestle him into my arms. He finally consented to be held, as long as I kept walking toward the incredibly big, cool building he needed to explore _now_. It didn't take us very long to reach the actual lighthouse, though we needed to go very slowly across the jetty since I didn't want to touch the ancient-looking steel wire handrail that was as red as the surrounding clay cliffs from rust. Char leapt out of my hold once we had mounted the steps up to the base of the lighthouse and instantly began running laps around it, the smack of his sandals keeping us apprised of his location like a cat's bell.

The wind was even fiercer out here away from the shelter of the cliffs, sending both my hair and Severus's whipping around our faces and spritzing us with a salty mist. I was glad the lighthouse was surrounded by a guardrail of thick metal bars since I felt like one good, strong gust could send Char tumbling into the ocean. These rails, at least, looked in much better condition than the rusted wires on the jetty, though I cast a waist-high Imperturbable Charm around the perimeter just in case. Char discovered this almost instantly when he ran over to try and climb the fence to look down at the waves crashing against the sloped side of the small rock island. He bounced gently off to fall back on his bottom then turned to glare at me fiercely for a second before jumping up and running at the door of the lighthouse instead, threatening to tear it from its steel hinges with his violent attempts to wrench it open.

"Is this really a good idea?" I asked Severus with a raised eyebrow and a sigh.

"Absolutely. Boys his age need to explore," Severus replied as he took out his own wand and flicked it once at the door to unlock it. Char hadn't been counting on this sudden allowed access and fell over again when he did, in fact, pull the door open by throwing his whole body weight at the handle and dangling from it with both arms. However, Severus was spared the same look of censure I had been graced with since our son didn't mind a few bumps and scrapes if it was in pursuit of what he wanted. Instead, Char leapt to his feet once more and was poised to sprint inside the shadowy entrance before being stopped by his father's hand on his shoulder.

"But perhaps I had better go in first to investigate," Severus conceded.

I allowed Char to follow him inside to the ground level of the high-reaching circular tower. I cast the same charm on the coiling metal stairs as I had on the railing outside since I had learned long ago it was much easier to just physically prevent Char from going where I didn't want him to than dealing with his tantrums when he was constantly removed from the inappropriate places he was climbing. Fortunately, Char was ignoring the stairs for the moment and instead had begun digging for his water bottle in the picnic basket, which Severus's magic had sent to rest in the middle of a coil of thick rope near the door. I helped Char find his drink and set him up with a handful of carrot sticks before hearing Severus's voice beckoning us further into the lighthouse's interior.

We quickly found him a couple rooms in, cleaning off the grimy surfaces of a plank table and two chairs set in an alcove of the wall in front of a window overlooking the water. When the dining area was sanitary, Severus and I sat and started eating while Char explored the few, tiny rooms of the former lighthouse keeper's apartment. Every couple minutes he would run back to us for a bite of sandwich like a begging pigeon before tearing off to resume activities like pulling battered copper pans out of a cupboard or staring intently at a dusty ship in a bottle on a nearby windowsill.

"So what is this place?" I asked Severus as I dug into a bowl of pasta salad heartily.

"A lighthouse," he replied dryly, pouring himself a glass of wine.

I rolled my eyes. "Really? I never would have guessed on my own," I said with a slice of cutting sarcasm myself. "But what's the history? Did your family used to run it?"

Severus laughed humourlessly and sat back in his rickety pine chair to sip his wine. "The Greyadders would have never deigned to engage in a task so menial; they probably would have found my own respectable occupation unsuitable on the mere grounds that I actually work for my living. I'm sure my ancestors employed some family of lesser standing to maintain this place for them."

"So it was already closed when you were little?"

Severus nodded and put down his glass. "My mother barely even remembered it running. She said it had been built a century earlier as a gesture of goodwill towards the Muggle government to keep them out of our affairs, but my grandfather shut it down when it appeared the Muggles were going to entangle themselves in a second World War. He never bothered reopening it, wanting to save the expense to increase my mother's inheritance instead." Severus said this last part with contempt, and I knew he was thinking that his grandfather's thoughtful gesture had probably just given his own father more money to drink away.

I stopped asking questions at that and finished my sandwich in silence. Severus's family history was still a very sensitive topic, and it was hard for me sometimes to figure out what I could ask that would give me more insight into the lives of my dead in-laws without drudging up too many painful memories for him. Char's uncharacteristic quietness attracted my attention, but on looking over at him, I was relieved to see he was merely sitting on the floor in front of a blackened hearth, examining a collection of scrimshaw he had discovered in a carved wooden box. He was turning each piece of whalebone around with his fingers several times to examine it at every angle with surprising attentiveness before placing it gently on the flagstone floor next to him, arranging them in order of length.

Severus was finished eating as well and had been sitting with his chin resting on his hand, staring out the window at the ocean. Without breaking his intense scrutiny of the horizon, he suddenly asked me, "Are you still completing the daily Occlumency exercises I set you last year?"

"Yes, of course," I said. I thought I should have been presented a medal at the very least for managing to keep up with those despite the chaotic mess my mind was left in by the time Char was done with breakfast.

"And employing Occlumency each night before you go to sleep?"

"Um … most of the time," I admitted guiltily. It was really all I could do to remember those damn finicky little exercises of his every morning. Half the time at night I was nearly asleep before my head even hit the pillow, any thoughts of trying to bulwark my thoughts beforehand completely lost in a zombie-like daze. I knew I really should be putting more of an effort into trying to maintain a twenty-four hour straight Occlumency spell like I'm sure Severus did. At the very least, I was nearly certain learning Occlumency was the reason I hadn't dreamt a vision since the night over two years back when I purposefully set out to have one in order to find Severus when he had fallen under his father's curse. It was probably sheer luck no visions had arisen from my lax enforcement of my mental walls.

"Avrille …" Severus began, looking sidelong at me, his voice slipping by habit into his disappointed-teacher tone.

"I know, I know. I promise I'll work harder at it. I know how important it is, especially now," I hastily interjected before he could chastise me too much.

He sighed and began fiddling with the discarded cork from the wine bottle. I waited patiently, trying not to hold my breath in anticipation. There seemed to be only one reason why Severus would broach the subject of Occlumency out of nowhere. He must want to tell me something important, something that he wouldn't like to discuss unless he was sure my mind was as impenetrable as his own.

Finally, he said to the tabletop, "There's going to be an Order meeting tomorrow night."

"Oh?" I asked lightly. Severus looked up at me through his wind-tousled hair, scowling slightly, but I could tell he was fighting to keep a smile off of his face as I stared back at him, the absolute picture of innocence.

With a heavy sigh of resignation like I'd physically beaten him into submission, he continued, "If Lavinia would consent to watch Char for us, I think you should come with me."

I did mental fist-pumps in the air before inwardly composing myself and stating, "I'm sure she will. She told me when the term ended that she'd be glad to babysit him any time we wanted to do something just the two of us."

"I'm positively astounded. I was under the impression she still assumed I had used a love potion to seduce you against your will." I knew Severus was joking, but little did he know Lavinia had actually accused him of it when I told her about our engagement after that school year ended. I'd finally put her mind at rest by offering to drink an antidote. She wouldn't let me, but only on the grounds that she didn't know if it would be safe for the baby.

Now that it appeared Severus was finally ready to admit I should be given at least some idea of what was going on in the fight against the Dark Lord, I couldn't resist taking advantage of it. However, I reigned in the excitement I was feeling. I didn't want him to think I wasn't taking the responsibility of being a member of the Order incredibly seriously. "What's the meeting for?" I asked.

Severus hesitated before answering, glancing over at Char, who still playing quietly with his discoveries, as though checking to see if our son was listening in. I know it was simply a habit of his to be so cautious, but it seemed kind of silly to be concerned with Char repeating anything we said when his entire vocabulary consisted of about seven words, three of them having to do with going potty.

"This will most likely be the last time most of the Order is able to gather since those of us at Hogwarts will be preparing for the new term very shortly, and it's going to look suspicious if several members of the staff all leave the school together in the future," Severus eventually replied, speaking in a slight rush as though relieved he was finally able to share some information with me. "Professor Dumbledore has reason to believe the Ministry is going to be keeping a close watch on Hogwarts in the coming months. However, we won't hear any more about that tomorrow night since I'm going to be heading the meeting. Professor Dumbledore stated he will be busy with other matters, though he wouldn't tell me specifically what." I felt a rush of pride thinking of Severus having such an important duty. It somehow balanced out the risk he was taking with the Death Eater side of things.

"As far as what we'll be discussing, obviously Harry Potter's safety needs to be addressed since _certain_ people have been shirking their assigned duties," he continued with disdain, though I didn't know who he was referring to specifically. "Tomorrow evening, several Order members will be escorting Potter from his aunt and uncle's house to headquarters where he'll spend the remainder of his holiday. I'm sure you've read in the _Prophet_ how the Ministry is trying to discredit both him and Professor Dumbledore, but circumstances over the past few days have shown it likely that at least one person with clout in the Ministry is attempting to harm Potter more seriously than just bruising his inflated ego. Until we discover who that person is, Potter is to remain under the direct supervision of Order members at all times until he returns to school."

"But why would anyone in the Ministry want to hurt Harry?" I asked, inwardly furious that once again that poor boy was in danger. Couldn't he even have his summer vacation to be left alone in peace and recover from his horrible ordeal in June?

"We don't know. It could be a Ministry official was Imperiused by a Death Eater, or someone in the Ministry is actually working for the Dark Lord, though I highly doubt this since I know all of the current Death Eaters, their numbers being so few nowadays, and it's unlikely he would have been able to turn someone new in such a short time with his current resources. It's my opinion, and Professor Dumbledore agrees with me, that it's most likely someone trying to protect the Ministry's reputation by silencing Potter permanently."

"That seems even worse than the Dark Lord doing it. You would expect that sort of thing from him … but our own government?"

Severus smiled wryly. "You obviously don't know many politicians. It's a disturbing thought, but not at all unlikely given the sort of people Fudge has handpicked for his cabinet over the years. But that will be something Professor Dumbledore has to investigate himself. Tomorrow night's meeting should mainly consist of bringing everyone up to speed on the current situation and making sure we're all on the same page in case we're not able to meet like this again until Christmas."

A quiet sigh brought our attention over to Char. He had pushed aside his scrimshaw collection and was lying on the hearth with his head resting on his elbow.

"I guess that's our cue to head home," I said, standing up and tossing things back into the picnic basket. Hopefully the outing had worn out Char enough for him to take a long nap. I was considering joining him, the combination of fresh air, hearty food, and a glass of wine having made me fairly drowsy. Severus scooped Char up and held him with one arm as he sent all of the items Char had pulled out back to their proper places with his wand. I didn't see the point of it since no one lived here, but that's simply the sort of thing Severus does. Char's lids were already drooping over his brown eyes before we had left the lighthouse. Once outside, the bright sunshine ensured that they stayed closed for good.

Fortunately there was a more direct path up the cliff in front of us to the border of the property where we would be able to Apparate back to Hogwarts, sparing us the long trek back down the beach the way we'd come. After hiking up the pebbly trail, we stopped at the cliff's edge to catch our breath and take one last look at the sea. Char had long ago fallen into a deep sleep, his face nuzzled against Severus's neck and one arm dangling limply over his father's shoulder.

"Did you have fun?" Severus asked me seriously over Char's head.

"Of course!" I replied with a smile. But something about his tone bothered me. I don't know what exactly, but in the pit of my stomach, I suddenly felt apprehensive like when you're watching one of those Muggle movies where everything is so perfect, you know something has to go wrong soon.

I tried to force the feeling out of my mind as I followed Severus and Char into the dappled shade of the forest, but staring at the backs of their identically black-haired heads, I couldn't shake the morbid thought that this was the first and last time Char would visit the beach with his father.


	6. Chapter Six: SEVERUS

CHAPTER SIX

_Severus_

The following evening Avrille and I brought Char to Lavinia's house in Hogsmeade following supper. Even though she had married, my fellow professor still kept her rooms in Hogwarts's Astronomy Tower during the school year for convenience. She had finally retired to the village for the summer to be with her husband in his house once the term had ended and her last couple weeks of lesson planning were completed; Lavinia had not yet decided if she would be returning to teach later in the year after the birth of her daughter, or whether she would even come back at all until her delivery. Avrille was encouraging her to take the full year off, citing that those first twelve months of a baby's life were so fleeting and impossible to relive later, but I also understood Lavinia's desire to return to a profession she loved as soon it was possible.

As Avrille ran around hurriedly after we had finished eating, stuffing handfuls of Char's belongings into bags and chasing Char himself down to wipe sauce from his hands and face before he rubbed his hair full of it, I stood at my desk and pulled together what I would need for the Order meeting. The folio of the Department of Mysteries plans had been left at headquarters for us all to reference when setting up the new patrol shifts, but I still needed my own notes as well as the various tables and instructions Professor Dumbledore had entrusted to me earlier that day. Fortunately I had already prepared almost everything the night before because I was finding it very hard to concentrate with Char constantly shrieking with laughter and ducking between my legs to avoid his mother and the dreaded wet washcloth.

I rubbed at my forehead in near distraction, trying to remember all of the items I would need to cover tonight. I knew there were certainly some things I should discuss with Avrille before we arrived at headquarters to familiarise her with current Order happenings, but I was damned if I could recall a single one at the moment. Char had barely given us five minutes alone all day, so it had been impossible to even consider broaching such a serious topic before now, when we were about to leave. Shaking my head slightly in an attempt to jostle my thoughts into some semblance of order, I stacked my paperwork to conjure from headquarters later. Avrille had just finished cleaning up our son, so the three of us were finally ready to walk down to Hogsmeade.

Lavinia and her husband, Henry, greeted us when we arrived at their cottage, the former actually gracing me with a pleasant smile which I returned with a tight one of my own. Perhaps she was finally starting to forgive me for stealing her best friend away. Avrille had been carrying Char and placed him down in the doorway to take Lavinia's hand inside since her third-trimester body did not recommend itself well to toting around a twenty-odd pound toddler. When it appeared our son was not going to collapse on the ground in hysterics at being "abandoned," Avrille began conjuring his luggage, stacking each item in Henry's waiting hands to the point where I soon couldn't see the poor man's disbelieving eyes behind the precariously teetering pile. Though I had told Avrille the Order meeting probably wouldn't last longer than an hour or two at most, she insisted Char needed his "things." A random selection of these apparently life-or-death items consisted of: his teddy bear, his pillow, his special blue blanket, two changes of clothes, several nappies ("just in case"), towels and soap in the event he needed a bath, an assortment of snacks for him to choose from (even though he had just eaten, and it was somewhat likely Lavinia and Henry kept food in their house), and his "Conjure-A-Nursery" expandable cot that he had never actually once slept in.

When I reminded Avrille, while watching Henry's upper body fully disappear behind the mountain of gear, that it was very likely we would be back before Char's bedtime, she replied slightly cuttingly that I had no way of knowing that for certain, and it was always best to be prepared. I wished I had held my tongue. For some reason Avrille had been in a sullen mood since we returned from the beach the day before and prone to extra sensitivity. I thought she would be happy to be on her way to her first Order meeting since joining up had appeared so important to her. However, this was the first time she was leaving Char somewhere other than in the castle, so I was trying to be understanding of how she must be feeling. On the other hand, I secretly worried that if leaving Char alone for an evening was this taxing on her emotions, was she really prepared for something as serious as an Order meeting that was bound to broach uncomfortable and possibly upsetting topics?

Avrille and I followed Henry, stumbling blindly ahead, inside for a moment so Avrille could brief Lavinia on Char's night-time routine. Having deposited his burden in a corner of their comfortable sitting room, Henry ran his hands through his sandy hair while discreetly flashing me a look of sheer incomprehension at Avrille's detailed instructions of which specific illustrations in Char's picture books sometimes made him cry so Lavinia could skip those pages. I shook my head as imperceptibly at him to convey that he had better start preparing for this sort of thing himself.

"Really, Avrille, I've got it!" Lavinia insisted, placing a pale hand on my wife's shoulder to stop her torrent of suggestions. "You're going to miss your reservation if you don't hurry." Since Lavinia was not a member of the Order, Avrille had told her we were going to have dinner in London in celebration of our upcoming wedding anniversary to explain both the need to leave Char behind and our Muggle attire. At the end of the previous school year, Professor Dumbledore had sent owls to each teacher not already a member explaining what the Order was and inviting them to join, with the explicit understanding that they would suffer no repercussions whatsoever for refusing. However, he had not sent the letter to Lavinia since he had an unofficial policy of not allowing currently pregnant women or mothers of babies under one-year-old to enlist. Therefore, in order to protect both my and Lavinia's families, a slight deception was necessary.

Agreeing for once with Lavinia, I gently took Avrille's arm to steer her towards the door before we were truly late for the meeting. She wanted to give Char one last kiss, but I insisted it would be better to just leave while he was distracted disassembling the Astronomy professor's very expensive-looking model of the Milky Way. Avrille was finally convinced of the wisdom in my suggestion and followed me back out into the warm summer night. We thanked Henry one more time after he showed us to the door then both Disapparated to appear instantly in Grimmauld Place.

Though the sun had set not long ago, a mostly overcast sky concealed the waxing moon making the square appear much darker than one would expect at this hour in early August. The electric streetlamps were already lit atop their skinny metal podiums. The lamp nearest to where we appeared was flickering from a shorting circuit, its triangle of sickly, artificial orange light barely revealing Avrille and me as we hurried across the street and up the stairs to number twelve. The throbbing bass of obnoxiously loud rock music from an adjoining building muffled my whispered incantation to unlock the door, not that there appeared to be anyone around to hear me anyway. The front door creaked open to allow us admittance, and I made sure to close it silently behind us to prevent the usual cacophony arising from less conscientious Order members forgetting themselves when entering headquarters and awakening the dreadful portrait in the hall.

The gaslights flared to life as Avrille and I stepped further into the entryway. Their sputtering fire, scarcely casting any more light than the dying lamp outside, nevertheless showed the hallway to still be in the same state of disorder and filth as it had been last time I visited headquarters nearly a month ago. I wondered what Black could possibly be doing all day long shut up in this place that was so horribly important he couldn't even find a moment to clean his former home to make it suitable for Order use.

Apparently our arrival hadn't been as silent as I thought, for I saw Black's house-elf, Kreacher, peering at us from around a corner. He croaked something unintelligible under his breath before slinking away out of sight again. I knew common decency didn't allow us many options, but I still wished Professor Dumbledore had been able to think of something else to do with Kreacher besides letting him wander around headquarters aimlessly. It may sound cold, but there was no denying the elf was a liability. Though I came from an old, pure-blood wizarding family myself, I was fortunately spared the burden of having to supervise a house-elf in these difficult times. My mother had greatly objected to the enslavement of house-elves by her ancestors and set the one remaining one free upon her inheritance of the estate, hiring several human servants to take her place. The ancient female elf had helped raise my mother and hers from infancy and refused to leave, having nowhere else to go. My mother kindly consented to her staying in the house, but only when she was sure the elf understood she could leave at any time she wished. The elf remained in the house as a welcomed guest, though one still unable to resist cleaning once a day, until her death the year before I was born.

The quiet hum of voices and a slice of firelight cutting across the mouldy carpet down the hall directed Avrille and me to where the other members of the Order were gathered together in the parlour. We stepped silently down the hallway towards the room, Avrille casting an anxious, sidelong glance at the curtained painting when we passed it as though the frame was rigged with explosives. Fortunately the portrait remained dormant.

Upon walking into the parlour, which Molly had already graciously cleaned last month, I was surprised to see only Arthur, his son Bill, and Black present. The meeting was due to start in several minutes, and though I knew several members must be off escorting Potter from his relatives' house, I had expected many others to be here already.

My confusion must have shown on my face, for Bill instantly spoke up from his position next to his father on a black leather sofa, "The others should be here any minute with Harry, Professor Snape. Most of them volunteered to be the advance guard for him."

I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes at his comment. I had specifically told Moody that the Dark Lord was leaving Potter be for now, so a full guard would be unneeded and probably just attract unwanted attention. If that many people had volunteered to be the advance guard, I wondered who he had been able to track down to serve in his completely unnecessary rear guard. But being an ex-Auror, Moody believed man-power equalled might, not understanding that sometimes subtly and stealth accomplished much more.

Remembering my manners, unlike the last time I had been at headquarters, I gestured to Avrille, who had entered beside me, and said to Bill, "I don't believe you've met my wife, Avrille. This is Bill, Molly and Arthur's eldest son." It still felt incredibly strange to not address him as "Mr Weasley," even though I hadn't been his teacher for six years. I had never minded the older Weasley children, even though they were in Gryffindor. However, the diligent way Bill and his brothers Charlie and Percy had applied themselves in Potions made the sloppy mediocrity of their youngest three brothers that much more disappointing.

"Nice to meet you," Bill and Avrille said to each other at the same time, then both smiled at their overlapping words.

"Molly's in the kitchen preparing supper for after the meeting. Will you two be joining us?" Arthur asked me while he wiped his horn-rim glasses on a corner of his faded business robes.

"Thank you, but no. We already ate." I confess I usually made sure to either eat beforehand or lie about having done so when visiting Grimmauld Place. The less time I had to stew in the seeping discontent of Black, who had not even bothered to glace our way yet, the better.

"If Molly doesn't mind us invading her workspace, we'll hold the meeting down there," I continued. "Since most members will be in attendance tonight, we'll be more comfortable in a larger area."

"For someone who never bothered to attend a meeting last time around, you sure know how to give the orders now, don't you?" Black remarked snidely from his position slouching in an armchair near the smoking fireplace, still not breaking his broody studying of the cracked hearthstones to meet my eye like a man.

"Last time it was because of Professor Dumbledore's instructions that I did not attend Order meetings, to protect me in the event the Dark Lord had a spy of his own planted within us. It was fortunate he directed me so, else I would have most likely been executed by the Death Eaters after _your_ friend betrayed us all," I reminded him coldly. "If you have a problem with my authority, I suggest you register your complaints with the headmaster himself next time he comes here since, again, it was his wish that I lead the meeting tonight. In the meantime you're more than welcome to retire to your room while the rest of us discuss the safety of your godson."

With that, I turned on my heel and left the room. Avrille followed me, taking a couple extra quick steps to match my impatient strides.

"_What the hell is his problem?"_ she whispered to me when we were back in the hall.

"_His problem is that he never grew the hell up_," I hissed back, then felt immediately guilty for snapping at her. I took her hand in apology as we descended into the basement. Avrille squeezed my fingers before letting go as we stepped into the kitchen, conveying that she understood my irritation and wasn't offended.

Molly was busy stacking clean dishes to shelve when we entered and greeted us pleasantly, with an especially warm smile for Avrille. She didn't mind us using the kitchen space at all for the meeting, agreeing with me it would be much more suitable than the small, stuffy room upstairs. She and Avrille started conjuring extra chairs and setting them in a circle around the table, which I had magically expanded to stretch nearly the length of the room. As soon as everything was arranged, Arthur and Bill joined us, their natural affability quite unaffected by my brief confrontation with Black. _He_ slunk into the kitchen a few minutes later and fell into a chair at the far end of the table from me with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. I ignored his petulance and busied myself skimming through my conjured notes and double checking the folio of Garnier's Ministry plans was in order.

Molly and Avrille, who were sitting to the right of my position at head of the table, chatted idly for a few minutes, Molly mostly inquiring after Char and if Avrille had been given a moment to breathe in the three weeks since they had last spoken. The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted my wife's reply, followed by the muted sound of numerous sets of footsteps in the hall above us. Molly excused herself to get Potter settled in a room with the other children. A minute later nearly a dozen Order members filed down the stairs, most leaning broomsticks against the wall near the kitchen door before hurrying to take a seat around the table. Apparently Bill hadn't been exaggerating about the size of the advance guard.

Moody had led the procession, his magical eye swivelling around spasmodically as though searching out any Death Eaters who might have hid themselves in the butter dish. Next came Elphias Doge, limping slightly as he shuffled to the table as though it had been many a year since the ancient man had last ridden a broomstick. Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones followed after pouring each other cups of tea. Vance pulled her green shawl more tightly around herself while cupping her warm mug gratefully, and Jones busied herself smoothing down her black, windswept hair. Unfortunately the wind hadn't blown away Dedalus Diggle's ridiculous violet top hat, which he placed on the table in front of him as he took a seat next to Sturgis Podmore. Nymphadora Tonks hurried down the stairs tailing Lupin, and she proceeded to knock down everyone else's neatly stacked brooms while attempting to lay hers next to them. The brooms were quickly put to rights with a lazy wand wave from her senior Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt settled himself on my other side while Lupin and Tonks took chairs near Black at the far end of the table.

Brief introductions were made for those who didn't know Avrille, which was virtually everyone besides the Weasley family and Lupin since I had barred her from the previous meeting. The exchange between Moody and Avrille was slightly awkward since both knew they should have met already almost a year ago.

Finally Molly returned. As she took her place next to her husband once more, wine was conjured and poured while several pipes were lit. The smouldering pipeweed duskily illuminated the lower half of the smokers' faces in the dim room. I had just welcomed everyone and was about to offer Professor Dumbledore's regrets for his absence tonight when I was halted by the shuffling late arrival of Mundungus Fletcher. Looking as always like he had spent the previous night asleep in a gutter, Fletcher mumbled some incomprehensible excuse before collapsing next to Lupin at the table. I bit my cheek to keep myself from reiterating to the petty criminal that the reason we had to meet tonight was primarily because of his own irresponsibility when he abandoned his guard duty over Potter to chase after stolen goods. But knowing Professor Dumbledore had already severely reprimanded him himself, I pushed my annoyance aside and carried on.

"Professor Dumbledore and Minerva apologise for their inability to be in attendance tonight. Since, as you know, the Ministry is poised to keep tabs on us all at Hogwarts with the appointment of Dolores Umbridge to the staff, they as the primary administrators have much to accomplish in the next few weeks before she descends on us."

"—Eew, Umbridge!" Tonks interrupted me with her turned-up nose wrinkled in disgust, apparently not in the loop after all. "How did _she_ weasel her way in there?"

"The Ministry passed a decree stating that if Professor Dumbledore couldn't fulfil an empty staff position, it would be filled at the discretion of the Ministry," I explained. "No one volunteered to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, so Umbridge was assigned to the school." Avrille furrowed her brow slightly when I said this, knowing I myself had applied and been denied by the headmaster. However, she didn't say anything to contradict me, of which I was grateful. Hoping to push aside this still-sore matter, I opened my mouth to continue, but Tonks once again cut me off.

"But there _has_ to be someone else! Why can't you go teach it again, Remus?" she asked Lupin, who was sitting across from her at the other end of the table.

Lupin shook his head sadly. "Because I truly can't. Dolores Umbridge herself authored and forced through a mandate five years ago adding onto the Werewolf Regulation Act, which already required people like me to obtain a special permit from the Ministry to work. Her addendum stipulated that a werewolf who voluntarily leaves a salaried position for any other reason besides documented medical illness not related to their affliction would thereby be banned from seeking salaried employment in the country for three full years. Apparently we werewolves are expected to be simply grateful to have a job at all, no matter if we have other extenuating circumstances."

Apparently unable to let the subject drop, Tonks demanded with the tips of her ludicrously purple hair flaring bright orange for a moment in her passion, "If you knew that was going to happen, why did you ever resign in the first place?"

Lupin glanced delicately aside at me, but before he could say anything Black interjected, "Because _someone_ opened their big mouth and blabbed about Remus's condition at the end of the year." He finally met my eye by glaring hotly at me while pouring himself a second goblet of wine. I, of course, was used to Black's tantrums and didn't rise to his bait, instead sitting back and waiting patiently until everyone saw fit to continue with the meeting.

Lupin turned to his friend and said pointedly, "I hold no ill will at all towards Severus for that; he was trying to protect his students from what appeared to everyone at the time to be an out-of-control werewolf, who had just aided and abetted the escape of a mass-murderer. Whatever blame there was to be issued for the events of that night fell rightfully on me. I should have gone directly to Dumbledore and told him what I suspected about your innocence. Even more importantly, I should have made taking my Wolfsbane Potion, that Severus kindly volunteered to brew for me the entire school year, my absolute first priority.

"But enough about that. The past is over, and we're here to discuss the present," Remus said, shaking his greying hair slightly wolfishly as he turned to look back at me while Black snorted and downed his wine. "I apologise for the interruption, Severus. Please continue."

I sat forward in my chair again and pulled out my first of several sheets of notes. "Now that Potter has been safely relocated here …"

I couldn't stop myself from sighing in utter exasperation as I was prevented from beginning for the fourth time by the sound of shouting echoing down the stairs. I tapped my quill point impatiently on the table while Molly quickly cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door to block out what sounded like Potter giving his unbridled teenage angst free rein; he must have been yelling at the top of his lungs for the noise to penetrate the several floors between us. As soon as Molly's charm took effect, and we were blanketed in sweet silence once more, I paused while staring at each member of the Order to see if anyone else would like to prevent this meeting from getting underway before I wasted any more breath. When I was sure I was the sole focus of all fifteen pairs of eyes around the table—Fletcher having, fortunately, already fallen asleep—I cleared my throat and recommenced.

"Since Potter sounds like he is in excellent health, I will assume his retrieval from the Dursleys' house went smoothly." I glanced at Moody for confirmation. Moody nodded slightly, his creviced face screwed up in concentration as he dribbled some of the provided wine into the spout of his hipflask for later consumption.

"Because we're now able to forgo the around-the-clock vigils in Surrey," I continued briskly to make up for lost time, "Professor Dumbledore has drawn up a schedule for monitoring the Department of Mysteries corridor every night. Please review this and commit your assigned nights to memory, for these schedules will be destroyed once the meeting concludes." I pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Shacklebolt on my left to pass around the table. "If you are unable to perform your assigned guard duty on a certain date, it will be up to you to find another Order member to take your place. However, any changes made to the prearranged schedule must be cleared with either Professor Dumbledore or Minerva well in advance. They understand sometimes legitimate things will arise that conflict with your assignment, but keep in mind there is nothing more important in the world right now than protecting that prophecy."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Avrille's face crease slightly with confusion at both my mention of the prophecy, which I realised I hadn't explained to her the moment I said it, and also when the guard duty schedules fell short just as Molly took the last one beside her. I discreetly passed her my original copy. I saw her expression fall further when upon scanning the tables, she failed to locate her name even once. I hoped no one else in the Order would notice this omission because I didn't feel like having to defend my wife's absence on the schedule at the moment. Though it may come across to some as favouritism, it was actually Professor Dumbledore's instruction that Avrille be kept away from the Ministry because of my own complicated situation.

I waited a moment for everyone to memorise their shifts. When I had the full attention of the room once more, besides the unconscious Fletcher, who hadn't been trusted to pick up a single night of duty anyway, I carried on.

"Everyone who stands guard must do so under an invisibility cloak, even those who are Ministry employees." Tonks groaned slightly at this.

I looked down the table at her and said, "It is imperative you do not rouse anyone's suspicion in the Ministry by being caught loitering around a department that is not your own." Then addressing the entire room once more, "Several Death Eaters have also been spotted investigating that area. I still haven't ascertained whether or not Lucius Malfoy has been successful in putting an Unspeakable under the Imperius Curse, but once I'm able to find out a name or description, I will pass it on to everyone immediately. Keep in mind that besides watching out for known Death Eaters, you also must avoid drawing the attention of any non-Order Ministry worker. After all, we have no way of knowing exactly how many of them were involved in ordering the dementor attack on Potter."

"I'm still not clear why exactly Dumbledore's acting on the assumption that it was someone in the Ministry who ordered the attack. Wouldn't it be much more likely You-Know-Who was behind it?" Vance asked as she pushed aside her empty tea mug and lit a cigarine, blowing a puff of clove-scented purple smoke into the air above her.

"Well, You-Know-Who probably doesn't even know Harry lives with his aunt and uncle or where their house is, right?" Podmore piped up.

"He knows," I said solemnly. Podmore's hopeful face fell.

"And how do _you_ know _Voldemort_ knows?" Black asked me, every word glazed with brittle suspicion. A collective shudder passed through everyone sitting around the table, except for Lupin, Avrille, and myself, as though Black had let loose a blast of artic air with his careless use of the Dark Lord's name.

I looked long and hard at Black for a moment for replying simply, "Because I told him."

"_You what_?" Black leapt out of his chair sending it banging to the fieldstone floor behind him and making most of the other Order members start yet again. At his movement, Avrille reached into her pocket to take hold of her wand since it appeared Black was about to dive across the length of the table and garrotte me barehanded. Lupin stopped him by jumping up as well and roughly grasping Black's shoulders to hold him back.

"Calm _down_, Sirius!" he commanded. "I'm sure Severus had a very good reason for it." However, when Lupin looked over his shoulder at me for confirmation, I would have preferred to see a bit less hope and slightly more trust in his glance.

With a heavy sigh I said, speaking slowly and deliberately as though explaining to someone Char's age, "He would have found out soon enough on his own anyway. Potter's official place of residence is on record, and we all know the Dark Lord has already started infiltrating the Ministry. I took it upon myself to offer up that bit of information to further secure my own place within the ranks of his most trusted Death Eaters. The more he trusts me, the more sensitive information I can become privy to, rendering me that much more able to protect Potter from whatever the Dark Lord has in mind for him down the road."

Lupin had finally managed to force Black back into his up-righted seat. My explanation had mollified Black slightly to the effect that he was contenting himself with ominous knuckle-cracking. However, he was suddenly refusing to keep me out of his direct sight, even staring at me over the rim of his goblet while he put back a third glass of wine, as though I might suddenly run from the room to betray all of the Order's secrets.

"With all due respect, Severus," Vance spoke up once again, dropping her extinguished cigarine end into her tea dregs, "that still doesn't answer my original question. Knowing for sure that You-Know-Who is aware of Harry's location during the summer makes it seem even more likely he ordered the dementors after him.

"You're right," I replied with a slight, courteous nod in her direction. At least someone in the room knew how to conduct a conversation with proper decorum. "However, the Dark Lord told me himself that he has no current plans to move against Potter."

"And you believed him?" Black laughed with obvious disdain. "You took the Great Deceiver at his _word_?"

"_Yes_, Black, I did," I retorted cuttingly. I was growing very tired of having to defend every single sentence and action of my own to someone who, conveniently, couldn't even leave his mother's house. I felt Avrille touch my knee under the table. Remembering that she and the others were looking to me to maintain order amidst the terrifying chaos of the Dark Lord's return, I forced my rising temper back down.

"It would have been to his advantage to tell me if he was planning on setting dementors on Potter," I said, more calmly. "It would be the perfect way to test whether or not I was repeating everything he said to Professor Dumbledore. If he believed me to be completely loyal to the Order, he would know I wouldn't be able to risk jeopardising Potter's life when he is so integral to the prophecy. But none of this is even relevant since all the dementors are still under Ministry control, correct, Kingsley?"

Shacklebolt nodded his bald head and replied in his deep, slow voice, "There have been no reports of any dementors going rogue from Azkaban, meaning the two that attacked Potter had permission to do so. As Dumbledore and Severus have said, the most likely scenario is that a high-ranking Ministry official was behind the whole thing."

Everyone finally seemed satisfied by Shacklebolt's confirmation since he had the most direct knowledge of inner Ministry workings of any of us, and we were able to progress with the meeting. Now that I wasn't being constantly interrupted, things moved along more quickly. However, I did have to pace myself a bit and not rush through some items. Avrille kept looking down to discreetly check her watch, and I could see her mentally running through Char's bedtime routine with each passing minute. The decreasing quality of the air in the room also made me want to leave as soon as possible. My throat already felt raw and scratchy from breathing in the heavily perfumed pipe smoke while speaking. I was able to take a break and sip some water while several other Order members gave brief reports of their own, mostly updates on their surveillance of various Death Eaters or explaining their lack of success recruiting new blood to the cause.

When every order of business had been taken care of, I said in closing, "Keep in mind we all need to be more discreet now that Potter is here at headquarters. Remember Professor Dumbledore's specific instruction that Potter is not to be told more than he needs to know to keep himself out of danger. He is still underage, not a sworn member of the Order, and should not be given classified information, no matter how many times he has personally faced the Dark Lord. And under no circumstances is anyone to mention the prophecy to him. Professor Dumbledore has been more than clear on numerous occasions that it is a topic he will broach with Potter himself when he feels the boy can handle it. That's all for this evening. Word will be passed along to you when the next meeting is scheduled." With that, I closed up my notes to dismiss the group.

Many people had other engagements or had tacked on Order duties after an already long day at work, so few loitered in the kitchen once the meeting had concluded. Bill and Arthur stayed back to help finish up supper while Molly went upstairs to fetch the children. No one moved to wake Fletcher, who was now drooling on the table and making me very glad Avrille and I weren't staying to eat. The procession up the stairs was a slow one with the members of the advance guard walking extra carefully so as to not bludgeon anyone's head with their broomsticks.

As we waited in the musty darkness of the stairwell for Tonks and Shacklebolt to move away from the entrance to the hall, Avrille leaned in and whispered in my ear, "You did wonderful!" I smiled at her amidst the shadows and placed a hand on her back to steady her on the steep, banister-less stairs as Shacklebolt was inadvertently pushed a few steps back towards us from the congestion of the hallway. I resisted the temptation to move my hand lower, remembering there was no guarantee Char would actually want to go to bed once we were all back home.

Finally most of the group had shifted closer to the front door, and we were able to squeeze into the hall ourselves. I saw Black standing in front of the curtained portrait of his mother away from the crowd, holding a whispered conversation with Lupin. I excused myself from Avrille's side to go over there myself.

"I want a word in private, Black," I said to him. He seemed like he was going to object, but apparently deciding to save face with both Lupin and Avrille watching us, he rolled his eyes and pushed off from the wall to follow me into the parlour.

"What?" he huffed in annoyance once I had closed the door quietly behind us. I took several steps into the room until I was directly in front of him. Black held his ground and brushed his long, peppery hair out of his eyes so he could stare back insolently. I'm sure he wished he could physically look down on me but was prevented from doing so since I was, in fact, marginally taller than him.

Matching his glare with one of my own, I said, "You will never speak to me that way in a meeting again."

"Oh, I'm _sorry_. Did I embarrass you in front of your wife?" he replied with heavy sarcasm as he crossed his arms.

"The only one who embarrassed himself was you," I countered coldly, not even bothering to conceal the disgust I was feeling towards his unshaven appearance and alcohol-reeking breath. "If you cannot conduct yourself in an appropriate manner in the future, I will inform Professor Dumbledore that you are too emotionally unstable to be allowed to sit in on meetings. And rest assured, he _will_ believe me, especially when he sees how you are apparently unable to even complete the simple assignment of cleaning your own house."

With an ugly scowl twisting what remained of his ravaged good-looks, Black pushed roughly past me. He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled the tarnished crystal chandelier above me and sent a white powder trickling down from the crumbly plaster ceiling. I quickly sidestepped the dust and left the room with a grim sense of satisfaction. Though he would never deign to admit it, Black must have known I was serious since he simply left without throwing more snarky comments at me.

There was no sign of Black in the hallway when I re-entered it, so he must have retreated to nurse his blistering pride in another part of the house. Lupin gave me a slightly curious look as I passed him to re-join Avrille near the front door, but he asked me no questions, probably guessing the gist of the unheard conversation from his friend's stormy departure from the parlour. Avrille also didn't mention my brief absence, except she seemed to be fighting back a slight smirk. Loath though I was to have to offer what should be an unnecessary explanation to Black of how adults behave, at least I had a wife who sympathised with my obvious annoyance at having to deal with an Order member with the maturity level of my fourth-year students. After a few more minutes of answering last minute questions about assignments, I gratefully left the decaying headquarters building behind with Avrille to retrieve our son.

We found him much as we had left him at Lavinia's and Henry's house. Their sitting room and what could be seen of their kitchen appeared to be in total disarray; Char had obviously discovered strewing about the contents of someone else's cupboards to be much more entertaining than playing with his own toys, which appeared to have never even been unpacked from his mostly untouched mountain of belongings. The fact that Char had probably only used one-twentieth of what she had packed didn't seem to bother Avrille in the slightest. I didn't comment, understanding that she had been more relaxed at the meeting than she would have been if distracted by thoughts of all the things she _didn't_ leave for Char.

We thanked Lavinia and Henry once more. Both refused to let us help clean up the mess Char had left in his wake. Avrille quickly vanished all of our son's possessions back to the castle, and we gratefully accepted the couple's offer of using their Floo to return there ourselves since Char appeared half-ready to fall asleep on my shoulder again like he had the day before. We put Char straight to bed once we were back in our rooms in the dungeons. He fell asleep almost instantly. Apparently completely tearing apart and exploring a new house was exhausting work.

Avrille didn't speak to me much the rest of the night besides a few inconsequential remarks. Questions about the prophecy and Order assignments didn't come as I had expected them to the moment we were finally alone together. I wasn't sure if she was somehow angry at me and didn't want to press the matter myself in case she truly was. Instead I watched her as she stepped silently throughout our bedroom, putting away Char's clean clothes the house-elves had placed on the end of our bed. Her thin, silent frame was almost ghostlike as she moved with careful purpose around the space occupied by our sleeping son. As I saw her lean down and give a lingering kiss on Char's head as though smelling his tousled hair, I wished I could know what was on her mind.


	7. Chapter Seven: AVRILLE

CHAPTER SEVEN

_Avrille_

A couple of days after the meeting, I received a short note from Molly Weasley. She wrote that Sirius had decided to go on an unexpected cleaning spree around headquarters, and she was wondering if I wouldn't mind assisting her with the library once more. More pressing matters had kept her from being able to continue with the sorting we had started a few weeks ago. I smiled as I held the note up at eye-level to keep it out Char's grabby reach. It was a small request, but I was honoured she had invited me to help her. We didn't have a chance to speak after the meeting, but I think Molly knew instinctually how let down I had felt when I hadn't received a guard duty shift. Of course common sense had set in a split second after I realized I'd been passed over. With Severus's delicate situation, it was unthinkable that his wife could be given such an assignment. Most other people in the Order could come up with a reasonable excuse as to why they might be in the Ministry after-hours, especially since most members worked there. However, what reason could I give if caught? Not only would I risk trespassing charges, but I'd also be suddenly putting a spotlight on Severus, who now more than ever needed to be left to work in the shadows.

So yes, I knew all of this, but it didn't mean I wasn't still feeling a little left out of Order business. At the moment it seemed I was a member in name only. Molly's invitation to help her with something practical for the Order, therefore, came as a very welcome and needed request for me. It was also well timed, for Severus would be resuming classes soon. Between his work and his own duties for the Order, I had literally only a handful of days where I could go out and do something alone without having to worry about who would take care of Char.

Severus seemed a little bit relieved when I asked him if he minded if I went to London for the day. I admit I'd been sort of moping around the dungeons since our outing to the beach. I was trying to keep in mind every single day how lucky our family was that Severus was even alive. However, I also couldn't help resenting how the Dark Lord's influence was already restricting our day to day lives when most other people in the country were blissfully ignorant that anything was wrong in the world.

So following Severus's command that I take the afternoon off from parenting, and treat myself to something nice in Diagon Alley once the cleaning was done, I Apparated to Grimmauld Place after lunch. I recalled the spell Severus had used to open the door so as to not wake-up the banshee in the hallway and let myself in. Sirius's "out of the blue" (Severus had filled me in on the conversation he had with him earlier in the week) cleaning frenzy didn't seem to have reached the entryway yet. Hopefully it would be at the top of the list soon. Seeing those house-elf heads on the wall every time I came here was really grossing me out.

Silence filled the house, and the doorway leading down to the kitchen was dark, so I thought Molly might already be up in the library. I ended up locating her just as she was unwinding the chain from the library doors with her wand to let herself in. After a few moments of catching up, we walked inside to get down to work.

I saw a few very nice changes from the last time I'd been in here. For instance, all of the annoying portraits were gone from the walls. This was easily seen since the space was now illuminated with natural light as opposed to what'd been barely able to shine from the sooty fireplace previously. About half of the bookcases that had completely lined the walls before had been removed, their unsorted contents piled into numerous teetering columns on one side of the room. The remaining shelves had been more evenly spaced out to reveal several long, skinny windows that had been hidden behind the impenetrable walls of books. Though the rest of the room had yet to see a good dusting, the windows at least had most of their grime wiped clean to allow the bright afternoon sun to shine in.

"I thought since we were binning the majority of these books, we could open up the space a little," Molly explained. "With a little work, this might even be a better meeting space than the kitchen."

I definitely agreed with her. Now that half of the junk was cleared out, it was easy to imagine this room as the heart of headquarters. At the very least, it would be more dignified to hold a meeting here amongst ancient tomes than in the kitchen, sitting next to a barrel of potatoes.

"I really appreciate your coming here to assist me, Avrille. I know it's simply terrible, but I just don't trust the boys' judgement on what books are appropriate to keep. Hermione has more sense, but the poor girl looked on the verge of tears when I mentioned how many books we were already able to discard. But hopefully with your help, we can finish this room today while the children are busy with the dining room." Molly rolled up her sleeves and began carefully extracting volumes from the top of one of the book stacks. She kept her wand at the ready in her other hand, perhaps in case the books suddenly banded together and attempted to crush her.

I decided to start sorting through several crates that had been shoved into a corner near the windows. I sat down beside them on the enormous Oriental rug that covered most of the floor. The rug had probably been exquisite when it was woven, but now it looked like it would need to be taken outside and hit with a fire hose to rinse out the centuries' worth of grime dug into it by careless feet tracking soot from the fireplace across its formally vibrant colours. Glancing cursorily over the contents of the cheap, splintery pine boxes beside me, I saw many of the items inside seemed to be personal effects of the Black family.

"Are you sure Sirius doesn't want this stuff?" I asked Molly over my shoulder as I wound my hair up into a loose knot to keep it out of my face.

"It's all to go, he said!" Molly confirmed, slightly out of breath from lobbing an enormous atlas of the magical world, its cover stained rusty brown with what looked like blood spatter, into her rubbish bin.

I shrugged my shoulders then turned back to my crates. Most of the books in the first one I dug through were ledgers of financial records. I'm sure if I was better at accounting, I would have seen some impressive tax-evasion work recorded in them. After flinging the ledgers into my own bin (which accepted them with a barking, croupy cough as though the records had been too dry for its taste), I cleared out a second crate by sending several thick stacks of _Transfiguration Today_ back-issues, circa 1953 and speckled with swampy green mildew, in after them. I made short work of the crates since for every one item I deemed to have enough value to keep, there were around ten that I tossed. When I had finished that set of sorting, I placed the few books and periodicals I had set aside into one of the empty crates, only filling it about half-way, to be shelved later.

After standing and brushing the back of my skirt clean, I studied the bookcase nearest to me. I assumed no one had checked over these shelves yet since in the middle of it sat a set of candleholders made out of probably real human skulls. A thick layer of melted yellow wax that smelled like sulphur coated the skulls like a new skin and had sealed the eye sockets closed. Wrinkling my nose slightly, I used my wand to pitch the skulls into the trash so I wouldn't have to touch them with my bare hands. Unfortunately, the rest of the bookcase's contents weren't quite so obviously Dark. Some books were clearly destined for removal (cover art depicting humans being burned alive on pyres were a bit of a giveaway), while others were completely innocuous, like _Miss Cecily Primrose's Guide to Proper Etiquette for Young Witches. _A handful of the books weren't so clear as to which side of the line they fell on, and these were the ones that took up the majority of my time. I spent almost ten minutes skimming one with no title on the spine and a similarly unadorned green jacket before finally figuring out that the "great, noble sport of our ancestors" the author kept referring to was not Quidditch but Muggle-hunting.

Once that highly inappropriate treatise had been chucked into the trash where it belonged, I turned back to the shelf it had come from and picked up the next book for judgement. It was a large, square volume covered in silver brocade and surprisingly heavy. Upon opening it, I discovered it was a photo album. I flipped through it randomly. Haughty, proud faces stared insolently up at me from every page, their names engraved beneath them on thin slices of tarnished silver glued to the paper. It seemed like most of these people were extended family of Sirius since very few had the last name of Black.

While the older photographs in the beginning were mostly faded into sepia from the developing potions losing their potency over time, a handful near the back were more recent and still retained their true colors. A flash of blue-grey shot through me, my chest suddenly feeling as though I had been stabbed with an icicle, as I turned a page and found myself staring into the cold, slowly blinking eyes of Lucius Malfoy. I stifled the gasp of air my instincts had wanted to take. It was only a picture, after all, and I didn't want to attract Molly's attention. However, I think I had very good reason to be momentarily freaked out; this was the first time I'd been "face to face" with Lucius since the night he tried to assault me. Severus often reassured me Lucius barely ever showed his face at Hogwarts now after the humiliation of being kicked out of the school's governing council. He didn't even attend his son's Quidditch matches any more. His absence was just fine by me, but I really thought I'd gotten over that whole incident. The way my heart was pounding right now seemed to indicate otherwise.

I regained my composure by focusing on the rest of the photograph to break the hypnotic hold of Lucius's photographed stare. The picture appeared to be a portrait of him and his wife on their wedding day. Both Lucius, in his pressed, black dress robes and the new Mrs. Malfoy, swathed in an ivory gown so simply draped you just knew it had cost a fortune, were standing beneath a white trellis crawling with morning glories. The golden caption beneath them read, "Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, June 10, 1978." Narcissa looked like she was just barely out of school and kept gazing up at her husband adoringly as she clutched his arm with a satin-gloved hand. Lucius's image, however, never broke his intense eyeing of the photographer.

A prickle at the base of my neck made me feel like there was another pair of eyes on me. I looked up from the photo album to see the ancient house-elf Severus and I had glimpsed before the Order meeting standing in the hallway and peering around the ajar door at me. The sunlight from the newly cleared windows wasn't strong enough to penetrate the hallway's gloom, and stubborn shadows clung in pockets against the elf's sagging, greyish skin. Like the other night, he was muttering to himself under his breath. While that act might hint at some sort of diminished mental capacity, the way he was sizing me up with his clouded, beady eyes made me certain he knew exactly what I was about to do with his family's old photographs. While I felt a small measure of pity for the poor creature who was now irrevocably bound to serving a master he most likely detested, I nevertheless gave the elf a cool look of my own as I slammed the album shut on Lucius's face and tossed it unceremoniously into the trash. The elf visibly winced as I did so but quickly scurried away at the sound of a pair of feet thudding down the hall toward him.

The owner of the lumbering gait turned out to be Ron, Molly's youngest son. His freckled face wrinkled in disgust as he looked back behind himself at the retreating creature.

Molly quickly pulled his attention over to her by asking curtly, "Why aren't you down helping Harry and Hermione, Ron?"

Ron started a bit at his mother's briskness, mostly likely having been ejected from this room in the past. "I just thought I'd make some tea, Mum. I was wondering if you want any." He rubbed at the back of his reddening neck with a grimy hand. However, if anything, Ron's apparent thoughtfulness made Molly's eyes squint together even more suspiciously than before.

"That would be lovely," she finally said, though in a tone that seemed to imply the opposite. "You can serve it with that rhubarb tart I baked this morning. Would you like some tea, Avrille?" Ron's eyes flicked over to me at her question. I don't think he realized someone else was in the room.

"Yes, thank you, I would," I replied. Molly spared an approving nod at the work I'd accomplished so far before rounding once more on her son.

"Make sure you also offer some to Remus. He got in late last night and is around here somewhere. And don't forget Sirius and your brothers. They should still be pruning back those Fanged Geraniums that were allowed to grow rampant in the morning room." She glared at the back of Ron's head when he waved at her over his shoulder as he left the library, a gesture only slightly less rude than rolling his eyes at the amount of extra work she'd just volunteered him for.

"And wash those hands before you touch anything in my kitchen!" she hollered with her wand pointed as though threatening a scrubbing charm just before he turned the corner to the stairs. I was glad she said out loud what I'd been thinking to myself.

Looking down at my own filthy palms, I asked Molly if there was a bathroom where I could clean up before Ron returned with our refreshments. She gave me directions to one on the ground floor since she wasn't completely sure what sort of being was currently making its home in the one down the hall from us. I made my way back down through the still nearly silent house to the bathroom, which was around the corner from the horrible screaming portrait of Sirius's mother and near the end of a long hall. I'm surprised I didn't accidentally wake up the portrait when I flushed the toilet; the water rushing through the ancient plumbing roared like rocket launching. At least the entire commode didn't collapse on top of me when I tugged the ancient pull-chain gingerly. All of the chipped porcelain fixtures looked they'd been originally installed when the room would have been referred to as "the water closet" and hadn't seen a hint of maintenance since.

But at least the ridiculous clamour of my personal hygiene didn't seem to spread beyond the echoing confines of the lavatory. When I opened the door with freshly rinsed hands, there was no sound of screamed raving carrying to me from down the hall. The only noise I heard at all besides the distant ticking of a clock somewhere was the sound of laughter coming through the crack of an ajar door at the very end of the corridor.

As stepped from the bathroom, I heard Ron's annoyed voice huff, "Make up your mind, George. I already have about fifteen cups of tea to make."

"If that's the case little brother, I'll take _two_," George Weasley replied saucily.

"You're a right git, you know that?" Ron shot back.

"Well, it's your own bloody fault for offering. Who else is here anyway?" George asked.

"Remus is in his room. Oh, and Snape's wife's here helping Mum."

I had started to walk back to the stairs but froze in the middle of the dim hallway when I heard Ron mention me. Turning back toward the speakers to make sure I couldn't be seen from their location in the morning room, I listened as another voice, Sirius by the sound of it, suddenly exclaimed, "Would someone _please_ tell me how the hell _that_ happened?!" A round of male snickering followed his outburst. I stepped backwards into a patch of shadow, cast by a towering grandfather clock blocking a solitary gas lamp, unable to stop myself from listening further.

"Most of us always assumed a love potion. He _is_ the Potions master, after all," George finally admitted.

"I guess I should give Snape more credit. That had to have been the most difficult potion in the entire world to brew," Sirius said, the mixture of revulsion and twisted glee in his voice making my blood instantly boil. "How could he have slipped it to her, though? She seems like she's smart. Though, I don't know how smart you could really be if you let someone like him give you a love potion over and over again—"

"—Knock it off." A new voice interrupted Sirius. My guess was it belonged to Fred since it sounded like George's but quieter. "We shouldn't be talking about her like this. It isn't right."

"Oh come _on_, Fred. You're not still hung up on her, are you?!" George sighed with exasperation. "She has a kid. Mum _did_ tell you how babies are made, right?"

I pushed off from the faded papered wall I had been leaning against and walked briskly away from the morning room, my face burning. Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to humiliate me even further since I nearly walked straight into Remus Lupin, who had been standing just around the corner in front of the curtained portrait. The way his own cheeks flushed bright pink at my appearance clued me in to the fact that I hadn't been the only one eavesdropping on that conversation.

We held each other's gaze for a beat before Remus broke our connection by glancing sideways at the heavy drapes. I was about to excuse myself when he cleared his throat softly and said as he straightened the buttons on his slightly frayed cuffs, "I was about to go tell Ron that I'd changed my mind and would like a cup of tea, but I think I've decided to abstain after all."

"Oh," I replied, not really sure what else to say.

I made a move to continue on, but Remus stopped me by asking, "Could I speak with you for a moment, in private?"

The last thing I wanted right then was a conversation with a man who had just overheard a group of teenagers referencing my sex life. But he had asked so politely that I found myself replying, "Sure," and following him up one flight of stairs to his room.

Remus allowed me to enter first and gestured to a black winged armchair near an empty fireplace. He propped the door open ostentatiously then sat down in a similar chair facing me.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but I assume you might have something on the way," he said as he settled himself.

"I do. Thank you anyway." I was still too embarrassed to look at Remus directly. Instead, I focused my attention on the impressive collection of books he himself had acquired, which filled several shelves flanking the fireplace beside us, as I tried to poke a tuft of protruding stuffing back into its hole in the armrest's upholstery with my finger.

"I won't keep you long, then." Remus seemed just as reluctant to begin his own conversation as I was to be a part of it. His gold-flecked hazel eyes followed mine to his books.

"Sirius generously allowed me to pick through his family's library for anything that piqued my interest before you and Molly began your expunction. It was a novel experience for me." Remus sighed heavily at himself. "Forgive the horrible pun. It was unintentional." I couldn't help smiling a bit at that.

"What I meant to say is that I've never been able to indulge in the luxury of owning a personal library before. My living situations have always been too unpredictable to waste trunk space with all the books I'd love to own but don't necessarily need."

I finally looked back to Remus. He was still admiring his newly acquired collection, though with a sad, wistful expression on his face, as he stroked one of his scarred cheeks with his thumb. A little ball of guilt knotted itself into a corner of my stomach.

"That much instability in your life must be incredibly difficult for you. I can't help but feel partly responsible. If I'd only tried to convince Severus not to tell everyone about your condition, perhaps you could still be teaching at—"

Remus silently interrupted me by finally meeting my eye and shaking his head with a raised hand. "I meant what I said at the meeting. I truly do not hold any ill feelings towards Severus for that, and certainly none towards you. I would have done the exact same thing in his situation if I believed my own students were in danger. No, I should be the one apologizing. The way Sirius was speaking with the boys was inappropriate, and I'm very sorry you had to overhear that."

"It's ok. I'm used to people thinking I'm crazy for marrying Severus," I said, trying not to fidget. I wished Remus would just drop the topic, but he inevitably continued.

"No, it isn't ok, and I've never thought you were crazy for marrying him. Though both Sirius and Severus seem immovable in their wilful oversight of each other's positive attributes, I've known for years that Severus is a decent man with many good qualities. As for what you overheard just now, Sirius should not have been speaking that way about a fellow Order member, no matter what his personal feelings are towards your husband. I also should have gone in and told him so myself." Remus hesitated and slouched a bit more in his chair, either simply to get more comfortable or as an unconscious gesture to diminish himself because this conversation was just as awkward for him as it was for me. Apparently his own guilty conscience was nagging strongly for he valiantly pressed on.

"We hardly know each other, but I feel like you've already discovered one of my worst flaws."

I looked at him quizzically.

"I'm loath to ever make waves," he explained with a sad smile. "I'm often polite to a fault, even with my friends. I went so long without having any as a child. Once I finally made some at Hogwarts, I did anything I could to keep them, even going along with things I didn't agree with personally. I rightly earned and deserved Severus's dislike back then. He saw my silent complaisance of my friends' ill treatment of him as condonation. Now that I'm an adult, I certainly wouldn't tolerate such cruelty in my presence. However, I still feel like I don't have the right to contradict Sirius or to tell him what is right or wrong. Sirius was tortured for twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he never could have even considered committing. Who am I to judge what is or isn't appropriate behaviour for someone who survived that, more or less in one piece?"

Remus fell silent. A blanket of sullenness seemed to have been draped over his thin frame, his shoulders stooping even more under its intangible burden. He once more turned his attention to the bookshelves. The repeatedly healed gashes and premature lines crosshatching his skin were even more noticeable viewing his profile like this, hunched over the arm of his chair, his chin pressed into his fist. His posture demonstrated the guilt that had been eating away at him for years without him needing to say a word. Even though it might have seemed condescending, I suddenly felt immense pity for him. Imagine having things happen to your friends so horrific that you are ashamed for "only" having to deal with living your entire life as a werewolf.

"Like you said, I barely know you or Sirius," I said quietly, "but if you were _my_ friend and I was in Sirius's situation, I'd want you to tell me if I was doing something wrong. I know you're especially sensitive to Sirius's feelings right now, which does you credit, and I agree it's a miracle he's as stable and functional as he his. However, from what I've seen of him, he doesn't seem like the type of person who would want to be coddled. I would think that after so many years of having no control over anything in prison, the sudden absence of any sort of accountability or control might be just as frightening for him. He missed out on over a decade of experiencing life and all of the lessons that come from both succeeding and making mistakes. So maybe instead of avoiding any sort of conflict with Sirius, it would help him more to gently guide him to be an even better man than he already is."

Remus glanced at me with raised eyebrows as I said this, making me grin.

"Yes, just as how you're able to see past your best friend's prejudice of Severus to see his good qualities, I'm also able to think independently and separate my husband's steadfast hatred of Sirius from my own observations of him. He's obviously not as mature as he should be at his age and understandably very angry at the hand he's been dealt in life, but he's still willing to put his life on the line to continue working for the Order. I don't doubt he'd be out there hunting down You-Know-Who this very moment if he hadn't been ordered by Professor Dumbledore to stay hidden here. That willingness to put aside one's own desires to better serve the good of the group shows a different type of bravery and maturity, even if some people like Severus think otherwise."

Remus sat up straight in his chair, heaving a giant sigh that relaxed the tension from his muscles. "You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that. And you're absolutely right; I haven't been doing Sirius any favours by tiptoeing around him. Thank you for your honesty, and I apologize again for any embarrassment or discomfort you might have suffered today because of my reluctance to do the mature thing myself."

A steady thump-thumping of sneakers on the stairs around the corner from us mixed with the muffled murmur of Ron's griping about the heaviness of the tray he was carrying alerted me to the fact that I probably should start making my way back to the library. If I waited any longer, Molly might start to think that the Fanged Geraniums had branched out into the bathroom downstairs and eaten me. Remus apologized once more as we stood for keeping me for so long. I told him I really didn't mind.

As he led me over to the door he said quietly, "I'm glad we had this chance to talk. Though we still don't know each other well, I would like it if we could become friends someday."

"That would be really nice," I replied. I truly meant it, despite what Severus would say if he ever heard me saying that. Discord and enmity had allowed the Dark Lord to get a foothold and almost destroy the Order in the past. Perhaps by forming new friendships and alliances, even reluctantly, we in the new Order would be better prepared than ever before to cast his influence off for good.

Author's Note: Ugh, I'm so sorry this chapter took a ridiculously long time to write. It was one that I didn't have very clearly imagined in my head, so it was a lot harder for me to motivate myself. But I'm really looking forward to what's coming up in Severus's next chapter! The only thing that might postpone me working on that is NaNoWriMo coming up in a few weeks. I'm planning on working on a lot of later chapters in this story during that month to hopefully add 50,000 words to it by December :) So rest assured that even if there's another dry spell of updates, there's a lot of future material being written. Thank you so much, as always, for reading! ~Renny


	8. Chapter Eight: SEVERUS

CHAPTER EIGHT

_Severus_

It was becoming increasingly difficult to speak with Professor Dumbledore in person. On more than one occasion, I found myself turned away from the entrance to his office by a grinding headshake from his gargoyle sentry when seeking admittance. I knew the business with Potter's use of the Patronus Charm at the beginning of the month had been smoothed over with relatively little effort on the headmaster's part. So what could be taking him away from the school from practically dawn to sunset several days a week this close to the start of term?

The Dark Lord ordered me before him one final time before the end of August. Since Hogwarts was completely my jurisdiction in his eyes, it was easy to conceal Professor Dumbledore's frequent ventures from the castle. The Dark Lord had appeared satisfied with my intermittent mid-summer reporting on the headmaster's continuing falls from grace with both the loss of his Chair on the International Confederation of Wizards on top of continuing clashes with the Wizengamot. It seemed with this last summons, the Dark Lord merely wanted to test my response time (fortunately I had been in a position to Apparate to the Riddle House almost immediately after feeling the twinge from my Dark Mark), for he practically ignored me after engaging in a few minutes of perfunctory questioning, to which I provided my usual carefully worded answers.

I was both lucky and unfortunate that the Dark Lord seemed not to have realised the Order had been reformed just yet, believing falsely that Professor Dumbledore's recent public humiliations meant no one of consequence was paying him any heed. On the one hand, it saved me being ordered to "infiltrate" the organisation and complicate things even further. But being asked to only spy at Hogwarts for the Dark Lord meant after spilling my initial fountain of information, I had very little more to offer him until the school year was well underway again. The Dark Lord showed his understanding of my difficult position by virtually ignoring me this time and focusing all of his attention on Lucius, who appeared at the moment to have fallen back into the Dark Lord's good graces. I tried to enjoy the novelty of being in the same room as the Dark Lord and for once not feeling like the Cruciatus Curse would be cast on me at any moment. I didn't even mind very much that I was once again forced to breathe the same air as Selwyn. Apparently drained from his mountain excursions, Selwyn didn't rise to the temptation of irritating me and simply stood off to one side staring out a window while waiting to make his own report. I welcomed this indifference, noting the older man appeared even more silvery around the temples than the last time I'd seen him.

I wasn't able to glean much from the disjointed fractions of Lucius's hushed conversation I strained to overhear without appearing to do so. His body language, however, spoke volumes. Once more confident and preening, Lucius must have experienced some success with his assignment of Imperiusing an Unspeakable. Unfortunately, the only actual information I confirmed was that, unsurprisingly, the Ministry had welcomed wholeheartedly Lucius's "philanthropic" gesture of a new wing for St. Mungo's Hospital.

I sighed inwardly. Lucius was making progress. Though tired, Selwyn did not appear to have failed with the giants, either. The small advantage we in the Order had gained with our rapid mobilisation in June seemed to be quickly dripping away like water from a cupped hand.

Several days before the students were due back on the Hogwarts Express, I received word from Professor Dumbledore that we would finally be holding our annual staff meeting the following afternoon. I had begun to wonder if there would be a formal meeting at all. As the three head administrators, the efforts and attentions of Professor Dumbledore, Minerva, and myself had been more often than not focused on work for the Order as opposed to preparing for the new term. It was Professor Dumbledore's wish that the Order be on solid footing before the students returned. He expected regular meetings and most forms of communication besides the occasional Patronus were going to be impossible with the Ministry watching all of us closely to ensure their increasingly frequent new educational decrees were being upheld to the letter.

The next day I presented myself in the staffroom a little before the hour. Becoming a father had only reinforced my belief that the best way to be on time for something was to leave much earlier than you think you need to. The staffroom had been arranged in the usual fashion for our annual preterm meeting. The various patched armchairs and comfortable sofas that normally formed a welcoming half-ring around the large hearth were absent, vanished to whatever mysterious room in the castle housed temporarily unneeded furniture. In their place a large rectangular table stood in the centre of the room surrounded by slightly more than a dozen high-backed chairs. I usually spent very little time here, despite its designation. I preferred to finish as much schoolwork as possible during my free periods as opposed to socialising so as to not have much left to wrap up in the evening, a time that I tried to always set aside for my family. Discovering long ago that it was nearly impossible to decipher the loggerheaded ramblings of first-years' essays while simultaneously trying to tune out several colleagues' conversations about the morning's newspaper headlines, I now spent almost all of the school day in my office when not teaching. Not to mention the perpetual faint odour of burnt coffee and blackened toast tended to give me a headache if I remained in the room too long.

Upon entering I saw that I was not the first to arrive, as I had expected to be. A mound of curly dun hair just visible over a chair's headrest showed a squat figure seated near the far end of the table in what was usually, I noted with annoyance, my own seat at the left hand of Professor Dumbledore. The newcomer (for obviously a veteran member of staff would never have placed themselves in a seat reserved for a head of House) turned to me as I closed the door behind me. With a further note of irritation, I recognised the offender to the unspoken prearrangement to be Dolores Umbridge.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she offered magnanimously with that ridiculous, breathy voice of hers, as though I had been granted a great favour in being allowed to attend this meeting alongside her.

"Good afternoon," I replied with precisely measured neutrality. Keeping my face free of the mounting resentment within me, I settled myself halfway down the table across from her. I knew it would be ungentlemanly to ask a lady to move, no matter how much the "lady" in question resembled an amphibian. Indeed, the business robes she had chosen to dress herself in, a moss-green tweed cut in a silhouette even I could recognise as being several decades out of fashion, brought to mind more than ever before her resemblance to a hopping animal usually found squatting on a lily pad in a marsh. In a poorly executed attempt to perhaps youthen her overpowering matronliness, she had paired the hideous robes with a frilly, Peter Pan-collared blouse and black Mary-Jane shoes, the toes of which were barely able to touch the carpet due the stubbiness of her thick legs. I could almost hear the scathing comments my always stylish wife would make if she were currently being forced to view such a repulsive ensemble.

Madam Umbridge (for I would be damned if I referred to that woman as "Professor" until the official start of the term required it of me) stared at me as I removed parchment and quill from my briefcase should the need for note-taking arise. An indulgent smile turned up the corners of her wide-lipped mouth slightly.

"I hope your summer holiday was pleasant," Umbridge remarked.

"It was very pleasant, thank you," I replied brusquely. _I always enjoy a good torturing by the Dark Lord, you Ministry hag_, I added in my mind, even though I knew such thoughts were beneath me. However, the undignified sting of a pen pusher with absolutely no experience in the educational field usurping a position that I was _overly_ qualified for was still smarting freshly. I also couldn't rid myself the suspicion that this woman knew perfectly well she had been appointed to a post I had been desirous of obtaining for myself. At the very least, there could be no doubt that Fudge had made sure his eyes and ears at Hogwarts was well apprised of the confrontation I had had with him in the hospital wing on the night of the Dark Lord's return.

Fortunately I was spared having to interact with Umbridge further for the staffroom door opened again, admitting a steady stream of other professors chatting loudly and amiably with each other about their own truly enjoyable holidays. From the snippets I caught amidst the jumble of conversations, several colleagues had spent their free months at the seaside resort of Hidden Springs, where the summer's drought had been less acutely felt. Charity Burbage and Bathsheba Babbling, each sporting a dark tan, settled beside each other next to me. Both women glanced at my unusual position at the table with raised eyebrows but greeted me pleasantly nonetheless before delving back into their giggling reminisces of the handsome men they had spent the past few weeks ogling on the beach.

Pomona and Filius glanced at me curiously as well while taking their usual seats, the head of Hufflepuff next to Umbridge and the head of Ravenclaw across from her. I acknowledged them with a dismissive finger wave from my hand I was currently employing block Umbridge from view by way of resting my forehead on it. Ronlanda Hooch took the seat directly across from me with a nod. She was in full flying kit, perhaps taking advantage of the fine weather to test the school brooms for safety. A silvery sheen in my peripheral vision alerted me of the silent arrival of Binns through one of the panelled walls. I was not surprised at all to hear the gruff chuckle of Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank mixed with Pythagora Vector's high-pitched laugh in response to Madam Pomfrey's humorous recount of the famously boring annual convergence of The British Healer's Society; Professor Dumbledore had already informed us members of staff in the Order that it was unlikely Hagrid would have finished his assignment before the start of term. Sibyl Trelawney hurried to her seat with numerous clackings and janglings after helping herself to a cup of tea from the sideboard. She made no attempt to stifle her grumbles at being forced to interrupt her daily afternoon meditation (I'd heard she usually liked to take a long one after her luncheon on a sofa in her classroom) to attend "this silly thing" as she fought furtively to untangle a long golden chain around her neck holding various amulets from the polished gemstone beads of one of her longest gauze shawls. Umbridge remained silent throughout all of this, and none of my fellow staff members engaged her in any conversation beyond the politeness of a formal greeting.

The door opened one final time, and Minerva swept into the room at the exact moment the clock on the mantelpiece sounded two. I was surprised Professor Dumbledore was not with her and even more surprised when Minerva took her seat at the head of the table. A look of incredulity creased Minerva's face for a moment when she noticed Umbridge to her left hand instead of me. However, to one not familiar with the subtle shifts of the deputy headmistress's stony expressions, the tell-tale pursing of her thin lips would have gone unnoticed. This barely perceptible grimace eased my annoyance slightly; it was obvious I was not the only one confused by Umbridge's presence in the room before the official start of term.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Minerva stated as she pulled a stack of parchment out of her own briefcase and set it on the table in front of her. Her clipped, business-like tone silenced the few hushed mutterings arising from her occupation of the headmaster's chair. "I shall be chairing our meeting. Professor Dumbledore has been unfortunately detained on some business away from the castle and offers his sincerest apologies for his inability to attend. If anyone has any concerns that need to be addressed to him directly, he invites you to bring them to him in his office following the Welcoming Feast."

Umbridge's lips curled even further like a leering Cheshire cat as she scribbled a quick note onto a pink-papered tablet she held out of sight from the rest of us in the crook of her arm. I raised an eyebrow slightly at Minerva, Umbridge's focus turned to undoubtedly disparaging Professor Dumbledore's absenteeism. In my fourteen years of teaching, Professor Dumbledore had never missed a staff meeting. Minerva's glanced in my direction for a fraction of a second before settling her eyes once more determinedly on the parchment she held in front of her. Her refusal to acknowledge me made me sure the headmaster was currently detained with work for the Order. Knowing any more inquisition on my part would simply draw more attention to his absence, something that must be avoided with a Ministry spy in the room, I sat back against my chair with my arms crossed.

"First order of business," Minerva continued briskly, already setting the pace for a meeting much more brief and efficient than Professor Dumbledore's usually informal, genial gatherings, "is new staff." Umbridge sat up a little straighter in her chair, folding her hands together on the table over her tablet to hide her notes while lowering her eyes to gaze at her knobby knuckles demurely.

Minerva ignored the movement beside her and continued, "Lavinia has decided to commence her maternity leave now and will not be resuming her classes until at least mid-year."

This was news to me. The last I had heard from Avrille, her best friend was still undecided about whether to return and teach up until her due date. Perhaps her difficulty in reaching a decision was part of the reason why the meeting was being held so late in the summer this year. Personally, I was relieved for Lavinia. Remembering how miserable and uncomfortable Char's third trimester had left Avrille, I had not been able to imagine without wincing the poor pregnant professor trying to climb the dozens of flights of up to the Astronomy tower from the Great Hall several times a day.

"Magister Theophilus Dexter of the Academia Venificiorum in Rome has graciously offered to use his sabbatical to cover Lavinia's classes, even if she decides to remain out for the entire year." I was quite impressed when Minerva said this. I had never attended one of Magister Dexter's classes myself at the Academia, since Astronomy had little to do with my chosen concentration, but I knew he was greatly respected in his field. The Ministry would have no grounds to declare him an unsuitable replacement and toss another mouthpiece into our midst. Professor Dumbledore had played his hand well.

"Magister Dexter should be arriving sometime on _Friday_, ahead of the students' return in the evening." Minerva flicked her eyes meaningfully to her left before returning their focus to her notes.

"Also, in lieu of recent events, Professor Dumbledore has decided to suspend the apprentice program until further notice." Minerva's pronouncement brought a wave of relief sweeping across more than half the faces in the room, including my own. I knew that since Avrille had been forced to withdraw early from my apprenticeship because of our relationship, it was likely I would soon be due to take on another graduate student. Knowing it was now unlikely such an event would occur while the Dark Lord was at large was a definite boon.

"Finally," the slight sigh in Minerva's tone indicating her resignation that the inevitable could no longer be postponed, "it is my pleasure to welcome Dolores Umbridge as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

The sharp staccato of Minerva's bony applause combined with a further thinning of her mouth belied she was currently feeling any pleasure beyond that experienced when having an eruptive skin boil removed. Fortunately the frugality of Minerva's welcome was covered by louder clapping from the more gregarious members of staff. I dutifully brought my hands together exactly four times. Rolanda merely snorted quietly, increasing my regard for the flying instructor exponentially and making me suddenly more forgiving of the penalties she'd slandered my Quidditch team with in years past.

Umbridge cleared her throat with a series of feigned coughs and looked as though she was about to launch into a well-rehearsed, bureaucratic speech once the room quieted once more. Minerva cut her off before she could accomplish more than draw breath again by remarking coolly, "I noticed you've finally decided on a text, Dolores. Personally, I've always found Slinkhard's theories pedestrian and his prose more useful as a cure for insomnia than as practical instruction on life-saving techniques, but you're well within your rights to assign whichever book you feel is most suited to your own teaching style. At least now we're _finally_ able to send out the booklists."

Umbridge's protuberant eyes bulged even more grotesquely as a reddish purple saturated her skin from the roots of her mousy hair down to the jowls of her neck above the frilly collar. But Minerva steamrolled on, giving the Ministry witch no opening in which to retort. I knew Minerva was playing a dangerous game baiting her in this fashion but still made a note in the back of my mind to slip some of the deputy headmistress's favourite shortbread into her office anonymously at the first available opportunity.

Other items on the agenda were promptly and efficiently dealt with, such as the distribution of class rosters and obtaining signatures on supply requisition forms. I knew these were all valid matters that needed seeing to in order for the school year to run as smoothly as possible. I also knew the importance of patience and how silent observation usually brought far greater rewards than hot-headed, premature action. However, as I half-listened to Sybil arguing, yet again, that she needed several pounds of rare Nepalese leaves costing a Galleon an ounce for her students' tea readings when we all knew she would be forced to settle for a discounted Earl Grey in the end, I could help feeling my time would be better spent at the moment discovering the source of Lucius's suddenly regained confidence. But I knew my place was here. I therefore quieted the impatient tapping of my foot, relaxed my clenched jaw with a deep breath, and tried to remain present.

"In conclusion, I am honoured to announce this year's Head Boy and Girl." An instinctive moment of silence followed Minerva's statement. We all knew Cedric Diggory would have been named Head Boy at this time were he still alive. He had been at the top of his class, and only a complete failure of all his exams could have threatened the spot for him. Being a Triwizard champion and excused from final exams, therefore, had made him a virtual certainty for receiving the accolade.

"Andrew Summers from Hufflepuff has won Head Boy and Amy Mizuno from Ravenclaw Head Girl." A true applause was offered this time. Those two students in particular were well-liked by their peers and the majority of the professors. Of course I would have preferred at least one of the positions to be filled by a Slytherin again, but at least neither was from Gryffindor. Minvera's pride had been quite insufferable the past few years with the constant string of Head Boys from her House.

She dismissed the majority of staff ten minutes later so the heads of Houses could meet privately. Umbridge followed the line of other professors dutifully out the door without another word spoken, her apparent docility unnerving me. Nevertheless, I was grateful to take my rightful place at the table once the staffroom had mostly emptied. I tried to ignore warmth of the seat cushion beneath me.

"So where _is_ Professor Dumbledore?" I asked after casting a resentful Imperturbable Charm on the staffroom door. It was completely insupportable that we were having to resort to such measures even at Hogwarts to be sure tongues wouldn't wag at the Ministry.

"He wouldn't say where he was going, only that he would be sure to return before the feast on Friday," Minerva answered with a sigh. Now that the influence of Umbridge had lifted from the room, the atmosphere suddenly felt much more tranquil. Filius lit a long hornbeam pipe and began puffing out blue smoke rings. Pomona summoned tea and several madeleines over to her from the sideboard platter, murmuring to herself that she'd work it off later.

"I know we all still have much to accomplish, and the students' letters are already unacceptably late, so let's get right down to it. You all have your fifth-year prefect recommendations, I presume?" Minerva asked, looking at the three of us in turn as she pushed her spectacles higher up on the bridge of her nose.

From underneath her saucer, Pomona extracted a small piece of bright yellow parchment with her official seal embossed on it. She pushed it across the table to Minerva after shaking off a few cake crumbs.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot," Minerva read from the paper. "I quite agree." She signed her name beneath Pomona's on the form then placed it to the side.

"I was thinking Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein," Filius offered up squeakily, blowing his own rolled document towards Minerva with a small puff of pleasantly spiced smoke. "Neither one lost my House a single point last year and both have been performing exceedingly well in their exams."

Minerva smiled as the form unrolled itself neatly, a corner of it flicking her quill upright to dance on its tip excitedly in front of her right hand. "An excellent choice." She endorsed the paper with a flourished mark. "I only wish Miss Patil's sister would show such dedication to my own House.

"Severus?"

I passed my recommendations into Minerva's outstretched hand and braced myself for an earful.

Indeed, Minerva asked immediately while arching a black eyebrow, "Pansy Parkinson?"

"I'll admit freely the fifth-years are not a shining example of the best Slytherin House has to offer. I would obviously much prefer it if Katrina Shepherd had a younger sibling I could nominate, but in the absence of such a person, I believe Miss Parkinson is not all together a bad choice. She has never received a detention, and like Filius's students, fares well around exam time."

"Hmm… " Minerva uttered thoughtfully. She seemed unable to come up with an argument for any of the other fifth-year Slytherin girls, so she placed a small tick mark next to Miss Parkinson's name. She then glanced beneath and read, "Draco Malfoy." A chill iced the name as Minerva spoke it. Her spectacles flashed as she dipped her head to glare at me slightly over their rims.

"Draco Malfoy," I repeated coolly myself and crossed my arms. Despite the rivalry between our two Houses, Minerva and I rarely experienced any conflict outside of the Quidditch pitch. To have my judgement questioned so blatantly, and in front of Pomona and Filius no less, was not sitting well with me.

"I am frankly shocked, Severus, that you aren't putting Blaise Zabini forward."

"Because the fathers of the rest of my fifth-years are Death Eaters?"

"Well … yes!"

I considered Minerva stonily but held a silence. She bit her cheek as she tapped the table with her quill point in time with the ticking clock behind me. She finally couldn't stop herself from demanding passionately, "And given this, I expect you're still going to allow Draco Malfoy to fly as Seeker for you?"

"I had no intention of not letting him. You think I should bar him from the team?"

"Without question!"

"Because of Lucius."

"Yes."

Pomona and Filius watched our exchange raptly with expressions somewhere between trepidation and admiration. Pomona sat frozen with her tea cup pressed against her bottom lip, and Filius had accidentally allowed his pipe to smoulder out. Neither one had officially joined the Order, but both had accepted Professor Dumbledore's assertions of the Dark Lord's return instantly. Minerva and I continued to stare at each, neither of us blinking or seeming likely to give an inch.

"I thought judging a child's worth based on who his parents are was something only the Death Eaters did," I finally said quietly.

Minerva did not reply, but she lowered her eyes slightly. She seemed ashamed.

It had not been my intention to shame her, so I continued with a mollifying tone, "It's true that Mr Zabini might seem preferable. He is a good student, after all. Also, I'm not so blinded by House loyalty not to know that Draco has exhibited many unsettling behaviours in the past, even if he has rarely been caught and punished for them. However, I thought this might be one of the last chances Draco has to set himself apart from the life his father has chosen for their family. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott … I see very little likelihood of them not following in their fathers' footsteps, but they _could_ possibly follow Draco if he led them down a better path. If we give Draco a prefect's badge, _show_ him that we all have faith in him to do the right thing … perhaps …" I let the sentence hang meaningfully.

Minerva did not reply, but she nodded her head slowly. Her quill hovered over Draco's name on the parchment for a few seconds more before signing her name under my own and placing it on the pile beside her.

"As for my part," Minerva cleared her throat to break the tension, "Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley will serve as the Gryffindor prefects. Unless anyone objects," she added with a pointed look aside at me. However, I noticed she was smiling slightly, knowing my intense dislike of the youngest Weasley boy in particular and the company he usually kept.

"No objections at all, except I feel I must register _my_ surprise that the golden boy Potter has been overlooked," I said with complete seriousness. "How will he ever cope with this devastating blow to his ego?"

"Professor Dumbledore believes Potter has been given enough attention this summer with the Ministry hearing and should be allowed to resume his normal school year without any addition duties heaped on him," she replied, ignoring my scathing tone and straightening the edges of her stack of forms between her hands. I assumed there was more to it than just that but held my tongue. Though I would trust Pomona and Filius with my life, neither had taken the oath with Professor Dumbledore and therefore could not be included in a discussion having anything to do with Potter or the Order.

"Is there anything else?" Minerva asked, suddenly sounding weary. I certainly did not envy the incomprehensible amount of work that must have been suddenly dropped on her lap with Professor Dumbledore's mysterious series of absences. We all shook our heads.

"Very well then. I'll register our prefect selections immediately and send the students letters out without further delay." Minerva stood and the rest of us followed suit. Taking my briefcase in hand, I followed Minerva, Filius, and Pomona from the staffroom back out into the sunlit corridor of the castle, completely unaware that I had just concluded my last ever staff meeting as Hogwarts' Potions master.

Author's Note: _As always, I apologize for the ridiculous delay between chapters. The only excuse I can give is that most of Char's rambunctious behavior in this story is directly drawn from experiences with my own toddler, and I_ _don't even have magic to help me out. I'm rather dreading what Avrille will be going through herself come Char's next birthday; they don't call them "the terrible two's" for nothing.___

_Thank you again and again for your interest in this story, your understanding, and your patience. Reviews are always incredibly appreciated and let me know that what I'm writing is actually being read. They only take half a second to write and absolutely make my day. :) ~Renny_


	9. Chapter Nine: AVRILLE

CHAPTER NINE

_Avrille_

Compared to our tumultuous summer, the beginning of fall breathed an air of deceptive calm over us living at Hogwarts. Events such as the return of the students on the Hogwarts Express, the Welcoming Feast and Sorting, and the resumption of classes each renewed a sense of normalcy with their familiarity. Taking up our usual routine made it possible to forget once in a while for an hour or two just how much danger lurked unseen outside the castle walls. Severus hadn't been required to appear before the Dark Lord once he was teaching again, but that didn't mean he was any safer. Aberforth, owner of the Hog's Head pub in the village and a fellow Order member, had several new customers begin to patronize his establishment since the end of summer. All of them were either Death Eaters or known to have close association with that group through family or business dealings. From what he was able to glean by listening in while serving beer, none of the conversation ever strayed into questionable territory. Though, for someone in the Order, their seemingly innocuous and polite inquiring about his elder brother's health and whether any professors, such as the Potions master, ever came in to drink took on a slightly sinister overtone.

Speaking of the Order, reading about Sturgis Podmore's arrest and subsequent imprisonment shook me quite a bit. Severus tried to reassure me that if someone was, to use his own words, "stupid enough to get themselves Imperiused," they didn't belong in the Order anyway. I wish I could feel as unruffled as he apparently was. At the very least, I would have felt better if Sturgis had been able to relate any information back to the Order about what happened the night he was arrested. However, his known association with Professor Dumbledore had guaranteed him complete seclusion before his trial, and Azkaban did not allow visitors. There would be no chance to get his side of the story first-hand until he served his time.

Things weren't going so well at the school either. Not content to remain simply the representative of the Ministry at Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge had finagled an additional position for herself as High Inquisitor of the school within a week of starting classes. This was not all together surprising since the staff all assumed Umbridge was there to spy on them just as much as to supress the students' Defence education. Yet her new power to dismiss teachers found to be lacking proper "qualification" was more than a little disconcerting. Well, disconcerting to me at least. Severus remained confident that his own reputation was beyond reproach, his students having consistently produced some of the highest N.E.W.T. exam scores in the country for well over a decade.

For the most part, he wasn't very concerned with his fellow professors, either. The one sticking point was Professor Trelawney. Severus had once told me before we were married that Professor Dumbledore only kept Professor Trelawney on staff for her own protection. Fortunately, she wasn't completely incompetent, but the fact remained she almost always had the smallest N.E.W.T. classes in the school, and not from enforced exclusivity like Severus's. By now Severus had finally disclosed to me most of the sensitive Order information, like how before Harry Potter had been born, Professor Trelawney had spoken a true prophecy about him and You-Know-Who. He admitted he only knew the first few lines himself, which he had disclosed to no one besides the Dark Lord when he had become a Death Eater. Apparently no one knew the entire contents except Professor Dumbledore and Professor Trelawney, buried somewhere deep in her subconscious. Should she be forced to leave Hogwarts, it wasn't unthinkable that she might soon find herself snatched by Death Eaters and suffer the attempt of having the information tortured out of her.

But at least nothing horrible like that had happened yet. The first few weeks of the new school year flew by pretty quickly for me. It's hard to notice how much time has passed when you spend each day simply trying survive with your patience intact until naptime, when you'll hopefully be allowed a couple hours to recharge. It was already the first week of October. I had barely left the school grounds for almost two months and was starting to go stir-crazy. Any potential Order work for me had been firmly shelved while Umbridge was at the school. Having to act on the assumption I was being watched while home at Hogwarts, on top of the possibility of anything I do away from the castle being noted by a Death Eater or an Imperiused witch or wizard, meant I didn't do much except try to keep my head down. At the moment Umbridge didn't seem very interested in my presence in the dungeons and wasn't asking any questions about it. I guess with Professor Dumbledore in charge and still at constant odds with the Minister, she had bigger fish to fry.

One happy event did occur early in October, breaking up some of the monotony and reminding me that wonderful things _were_ still occurring in the world despite the Dark Lord's renewed presence in it. On Thursday the fifth, Lavinia gave birth at home to a healthy, pink-cheeked baby girl, Aurora. Later that evening, after mom and baby had rested and recovered a little, I was invited to come visit them and meet Aurora. I left Char back at the school with Severus and spent a couple hours inhaling the intoxicating aroma of newborn baby hair while Lavinia and Henry enjoyed a mostly uninterrupted dinner. Not wanting to disturb them while they got used to their new way of living, I hadn't been back to visit yet.

It was now late Monday afternoon. I'd been waiting anxiously for Severus to come back to our rooms pretty much since the moment he left in the morning since today was finally his first inspection by Umbridge. So far he'd seemed a low priority on her rounds, probably due to his talent at keeping his own head down and his Slytherin students in line with the High Inquisitor's mandates. Not being directly involved with the students myself anymore, I was not always apprised of the latest gossip, but enough had filtered down to me to know Harry Potter was keeping Umbridge busy. Severus was, of course, annoyed as usual at Harry's inability to keep out of trouble. For my part I was secretly really proud of him for refusing to remain silent about the horrors he'd witnessed in June. I only wished I was in a position to be as vocal as he was. As it was, I was growing more sympathetic to Sirius with each passing day and how crazy he must be, completely unable to leave Headquarters after the _Daily Prophet_ truthfully declared he was hiding in London.

Severus finally walked into our parlour just before dinnertime. Char had actually been entertaining himself playing with blocks for the past twenty minutes. I'd been attempting to encourage his solo-play by not engaging him and pretending to read a book on the couch while really checking the clock on the mantelpiece every few minutes once I knew Severus's last class for the day was over. When he heard the door open, Char jumped up and ran at Severus, wrapping his arms around one of his father's legs before he was able to take more than five steps into the room.

"Hi, Daddy!" Char shouted.

"Hello, Char," Severus replied with a smile as he dropped his briefcase and a handful of mail on the floor so he could tousle Char's hair before slinging him upside down and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Char shrieked with glee and waved his arms crazily in the air.

"Daddy! Build blocks! Build blocks!"

"Give Daddy a minute to get settled!" I sighed with exasperation. Severus dutifully deposited Char back near his toys with a promise he'd be right back.

Unable to follow my own direction, I immediately demanded myself, "Well, how did it go?"

"I really don't know why you were so worried. It's as if you don't trust me not to implicate myself with substandard teaching," Severus said with an ironic half-smirk as he walked back toward the door to collect his things.

"Oh come on. You know I don't think _you_ did anything wrong. It's just that woman twists things that should be completely acceptable into virtual crimes against humanity." Ever since Umbridge had started "teaching" here, I found I'd picked up on Severus's new habit of referring to her simply as "that woman." Her name was quickly becoming as disgusting to us as You-Know-Who's.

"Just tell me already. You know I hate suspense."

"Besides not being very happy that I teach Strengthening Solutions," Severus said as slid out of his school robes and hung them up by the door, "she seemed unable to find any fault with me."

I breathed a sigh of relief before rolling my eyes slightly at his first comment. "What does she think, the students will use them to turn themselves into berserkers when Professor Dumbledore overthrows the Ministry?"

"Probably something along those lines," he replied with surprising seriousness while loosening his collar. Not that it should've been surprising to me. That woman was a complete nutcase.

"Good thing she doesn't know about your own personal improvements on it, then," I said. Severus taught a more conservative Strengthening Solution recipe, one found in most Potions textbooks that produced a turquoise-coloured brew. He had long since adapted it for research and personal use, creating the blood-red concoction I had seen him drink on several occasions in the past when his own strength had failed him. I had some once myself the morning after I gave birth to Char and could attest it definitely had a kick to it.

As he passed behind me on the couch, Severus tossed an envelope onto my lap before depositing the rest of the day's post on his desktop with his briefcase. I glanced at it and asked him in confusion, "Why are you giving me your mail?"

"Because last time I checked, I'm not _Mrs._ Severus Snape," he replied with good-natured sarcasm before dropping down on the floor beside Char and helping him restack his blocks.

I picked the envelope up off of my knee and read it more carefully to see that, indeed, it was addressed to "Mrs Severus Snape, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." The envelope was too large for it to be a letter, and the stiffness of whatever was inside made me guess it was a notecard of some sort. My information had been written in black ink by a delicate, flowing hand that suggested a woman's. There was no return address printed on the front. Flipping the envelope over revealed a large seal holding it closed, an embossed, gothic-looking "M" pressed into the black wax. I had no idea who it was from (the "M" making me think it might be from the Ministry, perhaps? Just what I needed… an official Ministry summons myself… ). I put down my book to open it.

I slid a finger under the seal to separate the wax from the envelope, which I could tell was very expensive stationary simply by feeling the fine weave of the parchment. I pulled out a likewise expensive-looking note card, edged with what appeared to be real gold leaf, and read:

_Dear Mrs Snape,_

_I know we have never been formally introduced, but I've heard so much about you from my son, Draco. It has long been a wish of mine for us to become better acquainted. I would be honoured if you would join me for tea at my home on Wednesday, the Twenty-Fifth of October. I know you have a boy yourself, and you are most welcome to bring him along. If this is agreeable to you, I shall look forward to your arrival at Malfoy Manor around four o'clock._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Narcissa Malfoy_

I must've looked totally incredulous once I'd finished reading, for Severus immediately asked from behind an impressive wooden battlement, "Who is it from?"

"Narcissa Malfoy," I replied, hardly able to believe I had just received a social invitation from the wife of the man who had once used an Unforgiveable Curse on me. "She wants me to go have tea with her at her _manor_ in a few weeks."

"_What?_" Severus laughed with similar incomprehension. But then he quickly sobered, looking up at me from behind a precariously balanced block stack with his brow furrowed seriously. "You're _not_ considering going, are you?"

"Oh, but it could be fun, don't you think?" I asked, waving the invitation gaily in the air. "And if Narcissa and I really hit it off, maybe we can rope in some of the other evil wives and start a sewing circle to make you some new Death Eater robes." Severus didn't find my joking very amusing and sat up, brushing his hair back out of his face to better look me in the eye.

"You know how I feel about you getting involved in these sort of matters, Avrille," he said sternly, narrowing his dark eyes in a way that probably would have made one of his first-year students cry. And as if it had been too long since he reminded me, he added, "It's enough that you're in the Order without trying to play the other side as well."

"Like you are?" I asked coolly then instantly regretted it. I knew he was only voicing his opposition because he was intensely worried about my safety. But being cooped up for so long with only Char for company all day, it was hard to not get annoyed with Severus for instantly shooting down a chance to go spend time with another adult woman, even if she was a Death Eater's wife.

Severus looked away from me back toward Char, who had been sneaking up behind him in baby-dragon stealth mode to knock over the temptingly teetering toy towers. He pulled out his wand to instantly restack the blocks after Char kicked them over with a ferocious roar. Feeling that I had likely hurt Severus, I quickly got up off the couch and sat down behind him on the floor wrapping my arms around his shoulders, the invitation still held in my hand resting on his chest.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly in his ear. "That was incredibly unfair of me to say. I know you don't have a choice with what you're doing and would give anything to be only on one side." Severus didn't reply but reached up with the hand not holding his wand to squeeze my arm slightly. "If you don't think I should go, I'll of course tell her I'm busy."

Severus was quiet for a little while, and I knew he was doing some serious thinking. I was constantly in awe of the staggering amounts of information he must always be mentally sorting through spying for the Order, perpetually at risk of falling to pieces like the block buildings Char had just thrown once more to the floor. I tossed the invitation back behind me onto the couch and stayed sitting on the floor behind Severus, resting my head on his shoulder and breathing in the smell of his neck.

Finally he said slowly, "I don't think you can refuse. I knew some sort of contact like this was going to have to be arranged eventually. The Dark Lord has already asked about you in the past and must be desirous of hearing another account of you besides my own. I don't think it's at all unthinkable that he ordered Narcissa to orchestrate this meeting."

My stomach did a little flip-flop at the thought of the Dark Lord setting someone to check up on me. But if Severus could deceive them all without blinking, then so could I. After all, wasn't that why I had joined the Order of the Phoenix? So I could actually do something useful? And though Severus had just reiterated that he didn't want me spying myself, it couldn't be denied that this meeting with Narcissa could turn into a perfect opportunity to discover a whole new, undiscovered layer of Death Eater activity to pass on to Professor Dumbledore. All joking aside, what exactly _did_ the "evil" wives talk about when they were alone?

Char came bounding over impatiently to us when Severus didn't immediately rearrange his blocks into yet another intricate edifice to destroy. "More, Daddy! More more!" he demanded, adding a hurried, "P'ease!" after a firm look from his father. Having received his manners toll, Severus dutifully obeyed Char's command and magically tripled the amount of blocks on the floor before reforming them into a tower encircling Char. It was taller than head-height for him but had a small window he could look out of. Severus must have also cast some sort of Stabilizing Charm on it, for a good hard shove from Char failed to knock even a single block loose, let alone scatter it to pieces. However, the new challenge seemed to merely intrigue Char. He crouched down so he was out of view from the window and began giggling like he was plotting world domination.

"You shouldn't need to worry too much about Narcissa," Severus eventually continued, after placing his wand down on the carpet beside us and as though our conversation hadn't been interrupted by our son being encased in a wooden block prison (from which quiet, maniacal laughter continued to emanate). "Unlike Lucius, she's actually decent; I don't know what possessed her to marry him. Money… or her pressure from her family, more likely. I knew her fairly well here at Hogwarts since she was in my year and also a Slytherin. She was able to avoid taking the Mark last time around, being pregnant with Draco. Not that her sister, Bellatrix, thought that was any excuse, of course." Severus rolled his eyes.

It was very weird hearing Severus talk about his "fellow" Death Eaters, something he had never done before. Until recent events had forced him to reopen it, he had considered that previous part of his life a closed chapter. I completely understood why. Whenever I had heard the term "Death Eaters" growing up, I had always imagined this faceless, black horde of people standing together unmoving and unspeaking on a weathered heath at midnight somewhere. Since my home was in Canada, where the influence of You-Know-Who's reign of terror in Britain was barely felt—my father's murder being a horrible, rare exception—the only knowledge I had of them for years was overhearing a passing comment by an adult, who would then usually shiver and speak no more on the subject. This elevated the concept of "Death Eater" in my young mind to a space of undefined terror inhabited by other Dark things like Dementors, Boggarts, and Revenants. I can't deny that a few years back when Severus had bared his soul to me and admitted that he had once been a Death Eater himself, it took all my love and faith in him to shove back down an upshot of childish panic and compel myself to listen to his confession as a rational adult.

So even though I obviously knew a little more about Death Eaters now than I had years back, listening to Severus describe them really forced me into grasping that these were actual _people_ he had to deal with all the time. Truly comprehending that made the risks he was always taking seem that much more dangerous.

I had just stood back up when a flash of mist shot through one of the bookcase-lined walls and swept through the air. It halted in front of me with a small burst of dazzling white sparks as it formed itself into a transparent, silver nighthawk. I recognized it immediately as Lavinia's Patronus. The apparition was beating its wings like a real bird trying to remain airborne, though it was also quivering as though gripped with anxiety. Severus jumped to his feet as well.

The Patronus opened its beak and cried at us in Lavinia's voice, also shaking in panic or terror, "Avrille! If you're there, please help me! Henry's gone… and I need your help here! _Please_! _I can't take it anymore_!" Its message delivered, the Patronus vanished with a puff of vapour.

"Oh my God," I said, covering my mouth in my hand and my heart hammering. "You don't think… could there be Death Eaters in Hogsmeade?!" The image of Lavinia standing between her tiny newborn daughter and a group of hooded men stabbed through my mind so sharply that I actually felt physically sick for an instant.

Severus seemed to know I was on the verge of throwing a handful of Floo powder into the hearth and leaping in, for he grabbed hold my shoulders firmly to keep me in place.

"I don't know… It wouldn't make sense… but _you_ can't go!" he whispered harshly, looking aside at Char peeking at us through the window of his tower, probably wondering where the pretty bird went.

"She's my best friend! I not leaving her there to fend for herself! Let go of me!" I tried to pry his hands off, but he held me tightly from behind, the same way I had embraced him on the floor only moments ago. Though Severus was lean for a man, he was still much stronger than me physically. I knew if it came down to it, I could remove him with my superior magical reserves even though the thought of doing so was not something I would ever normally consider. The question remained, which would make me feel worse: overpowering Severus or ignoring Lavinia's plea for help?

"We can't do anything! We _can't_! We have to go to Professor Dumbledore instead!" Severus insisted, wrapping his arms around even tighter. Char seemed to think we were playing some kind of game. With a laugh he finally pushed himself free of the blocks and ran at us, grabbing hold of Severus by his legs like he was holding me. It was a testament to my own fear that I didn't even spare a moment to be impressed that our not even two-year-old son had just broken through his father's enchantment, without a wand.

"She could be dead by then, Severus! She _and_ the baby!" I cried, feeling my magic swelling within me, ready to burst free and push Severus away if I had to. Pretty much the only thing holding it in check was the worry that he could fall backwards on Char if I lost control. The clock began chiming for six on the mantle in front of me. Severus finally released me. Maybe he could feel I was about to lose it.

"I'll go as fast as I can to the headmaster," he said, gently pulling Char off of him and pushing him in my arms. "Swear to me you won't leave this room!" Without waiting for an actual promise, he turned and began running to the door when something suddenly clicked in my brain.

"Severus, wait!" I called, just as he had reached the door. He skidded to a halt.

"What?!"

"Just wait," I said. I put Char down, who ran back over to his blocks, thinking the "game" was over. "Come back for a second." Severus retuned to me quickly, brushing his long hair back out of his eyes as he stared at me like I had gone insane.

"I just thought of something. Something that makes way more sense than a bunch of Death Eaters attacking Lavinia under Professor Dumbledore's nose."

"Well, what is it?" Severus demanded vehemently.

"What happened to Lavinia last week?" I asked calmly, feeling some of the adrenaline rush subside.  
"She had a baby," Severus replied tonelessly, his dark eyebrows knitting even closer together in concern at my sudden withdrawal of concern myself.

"Right. She had a baby. Now, look what time it is."

Severus glanced sideways at the clock, which had just finished chiming the last hour. "It's six in the evening."

I stared meaningfully back at my husband, nodding slightly and moving my hands in circular "come on" gestures to encourage him to figure it out for himself. Finally it clicked, and he sighed with relief, "Oh. Of course." Then, wincing as though imagining something painful, he added, "You'd better get over there."

"Yeah, I'm going right now," I said, dashing off to grab a cloak. "Can you handle putting Char to bed in case I'm not back for a while? And can you let Lavinia know I'm on my way? It's going to take me a minute to get to the gates." Because of "that woman" patrolling the Floo network, we'd been mostly avoiding using it for travel as well as communication. That meant if I wanted to go anywhere, I had to Apparate outside of the school's protective wards. I also couldn't send my own Patronus for messages, being that it took the form of a giant Chinese Fireball dragon; it would probably just scare the recipient to death before they even heard what it had to say. I'd therefore been relying mostly on carefully worded owl post, not usually having anything to say that needed to be relayed instantly.

Severus was thinking ahead of me and had already pulled out his wand. He'd murmured a message to its tip before I'd even reached the closet. As I sat and slid my feet into a pair of boots, a silver panther rushed past me and out through the bolted wooden door leading to the rest of the school. Even though I was only a half-second behind it, the Patronus had already dashed away to Lavinia's house before I stepped foot in the cold dungeon passageway.

I walked as quickly as I could, hoping Severus hadn't scheduled any appointments or detentions for the evening. The initial shock of Lavinia's message had started to subside, though a tiny part of me was still worried I could be walking into a trap after all. But I reminded myself that Severus would've never let me go if he didn't also believe it wasn't the Death Eaters. It being dinnertime, I fortunately didn't see anyone as I left the school, merely hearing the buzzing hum of hundreds of voices and the clatter of silverware on plates coming from behind the closed Great Hall doors. I breathed a small sigh of relief as I stepped out into the brisk October night. I certainly wasn't doing anything wrong or suspicious by going down to Hogsmeade to visit a friend, but I still felt better somehow knowing my activities weren't being watched at the moment.

The nearly full moon shone silvery through my puffed exhales, making it almost appear like a wispy, weak Patronus was trailing me with each breath. The evening breeze had a definite bite of winter to it as it gusted off of the lake. I wrapped up tighter in my wool cloak, grateful I didn't have to walk the whole way into Hogsmeade. As it was, I only needed to brave the autumn chill for a minute before turning on the spot outside the gates to appear on Lavinia and Henry's doorstep. I wasn't surprised to hear Aurora crying from somewhere inside. Also as I'd guessed, there was certainly no sign of a struggle or forced entry. I hurriedly knocked on the door then rubbed my stinging knuckles. I wish I'd taken a second to grab some gloves.

A burst of warm air blew over me as Lavinia wrenched the front door open, a screaming, kicking Aurora held in the crook of her arm. Besides the struggling newborn, everything about Lavinia blared "NEW MOM." Her raven-black hair looked like it hadn't been brushed—forget washed—since she gave birth, dark shadows ringed her eyelids, and I was fairly sure she was wearing the same set of clothes I'd last seen her in the week before. Her flannel pyjama pants were covered in a range of stains from dried spit-up to spilled coffee. Her buttoned shirt, an old one of Henry's by the look of it, was likewise rumpled and half-undone. In her sleep-deprived state, Lavinia apparently hadn't remembered to fully close-up after nursing since one of her breasts seemed on the verge of sliding out of her bra. I couldn't help but watch it nervously out of the corner of my eye as she jiggled Aurora forcefully on her hip.

"_Avrille_!" Lavinia exclaimed before bursting into hysterical tears herself. I scooped Aurora out of her arms and ushered Lavinia quickly inside before she accidentally exposed herself to her neighbours.

"It's ok. Everything's going to be ok. I'm here to help now," I said, wrapping an arm around my friend to lead her over to the couch while Aurora continued to scream in my ear.

"I just don't know what's _wrong _with her! She keeps screaming and screaming no matter what I do! What if she's really sick… or _dying_?!" Lavinia gasped in between sobs. Lavinia's house was in about the same state as her physical appearance. A pile of laundry as high as my waist stood in the corner of the living room next to an almost overflowing bin of dirty diapers. Plates and bowls of half-eaten meals littered almost every surface along with dozens of pink-wrapped gifts that had yet to be touched. Lavinia collapsed on the couch, squashing a teddy bear and several baby blankets in the process since there wasn't an inch of cushion not covered in Aurora's things. She buried her face in her hands as she continued to bawl like her daughter.

Shifting Aurora from one arm to the other, I managed to slide out of my cloak. I grabbed what looked like a clean cloth diaper from the back of a dining chair to drape over my shoulder then turned Aurora around to face me so I could take a look at her. The poor little lamb was still screaming with every ounce of energy she possessed. Her small, round face was screwed up and beet-red while her chin quivered pathetically with each tear-less wail. I noticed she was pulling her legs up repeatedly near her chest. Instinctively, I placed Aurora upright over my shoulder and patted her firmly on the back, bouncing a little with the rhythm as I watched poor Lavinia continue to completely meltdown. Finally, after a couple minutes of patting and going nearly deaf in my right ear, Aurora burped magnificently, dribbling sour-smelling milk onto my protected shoulder. A high-pitched tooting from her backend followed. Fortunately it hadn't sounded wet.

Aurora quieted almost instantly, though she continued to whimper slightly and paw at her mouth with her fists. Lavinia stopped crying herself once Aurora had calmed and looked up at me with her cheeks blotchy and tear-stained.

"Only gas," I commented, sitting down next to Lavinia on the couch. "I think she wants to nurse again."

"But I _just_ nursed her twenty minutes ago!" Lavinia exclaimed, sounding near to tears again. She wiped the back of her hand across her face and took a couple shuddering breaths. "How can she be hungry _again_?!"

"Cause she's a newborn," I explained calmly. "It's really common for babies this young to want to cluster-feed in the evenings. Now that her burp is out of the way, she's probably ready for another fill-up."

Lavinia nodded wearily and took Aurora from me. The second her mother's hands touched her, Aurora began rooting against Lavinia's shirt with impatient bleats. Lavinia was able to get Aurora latched after a couple attempts. Her daughter immediately began chugging down her second or third dinner with gusto. Her teeny blue eyes closed in contentment.

I gave Lavinia a couple minutes to settle herself in a comfortable position before saying quietly, "You're doing great."

"No I'm not," Lavinia replied wearily. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Look at the state of this place! You'd think a Muggle lived here! I've been trying to keep up with the cleaning, but Aurora's been waking up every two hours to nurse at night—if I'm lucky enough that she falls asleep at all—and I'm having the hardest time even producing a Cleansing Charm. I feel like a first-year at school again."

"It's really normal for your powers to take a hit after birth," I said. "I don't think I was back to full strength with my own magic until Char was at least a month old. Has Henry been able to help you much?"

Lavinia shook her head. "He's been having to work late almost every day, with the holidays approaching. It seems every single wizard in the country needs new dress robes this year. He's helped a little so I can take a short nap some days, but the second Aurora's hungry, I have to be woken up to feed her."

I nodded with empathy, remembering my own first few weeks with Char. Severus had been an amazing and attentive father right from the start, but like Lavinia had said, there was only so much he could do, especially when classes resumed and he had to teach all day.

"I just feel like I can't do this, Avrille," Lavinia whispered, several fresh tears spilling from her indigo eyes. "Why am I not more like _you_? You always knew what to do. You were never like this with Char!"

I felt bad, but I couldn't help bursting out laughing at her when she said that. I covered my mouth with my hand when I accidentally startled Aurora from her milk coma. She fussed for a moment before happily resuming her meal on Lavinia's other side.

"Lavinia, you were teaching yourself when Char was born and were barely able to visit until I was well past this stage. I was a _mess_ with Char. I still am sometimes! I just always tried to hide it whenever someone visited so they wouldn't think I was a horrible mother. Do you know what us new parents call this time of day?"

Lavinia shook her head again, her loosely braided hair coming even more undone from its knotty plait.

"We call it 'the witching hour.' It's that time around dinner where our babies suddenly act possessed and _nothing_ we do seems to be right. It's totally normal, and we women just have the crappy luck of having to deal with it on top of getting our own bodies and hormones back to normal while our husbands get to go to work and escape for a while. I don't think there was a single evening for two straight weeks after Char was born where Severus didn't come back from dinner in the Great Hall to find me sobbing in his arms the moment he walked in the door. I felt exactly like you do right now."

Lavinia nodded and seemed slightly more at ease.

"It gets better though, right?" she asked hopefully.

I wasn't sure how to answer. I figured the complete truth might send her into hysterics again. I settled for the euphemistic truth.

"It's gets different," I finally admitted. "It's never going to be easy being a mom, but… yes. It does get a little easier once you're able to sleep more than an hour at a time, and you don't have to be the on-call milkmaid."

Lavinia smiled at me then looked down at Aurora, who had dropped off to sleep completely. I could tell from the aching love in her eyes that she didn't regret having to go through this for a second, as hard as it was at this one moment. I felt the same way every time I tucked Char into bed at night despite the amount of times I had been shouted at or blatantly ignored by him each day.  
"I got Severus's Patronus almost right after I sent mine to you," Lavinia said quietly as she continued look down on Aurora sleeping peacefully. "I would have never thought years ago when I started teaching at Hogwarts that I'd ever be relieved to hear his voice. He really is a great man, Avrille. I'm sorry I used to tease you about him."

"Wow, if we've converted you, I guess there's some hope for the students if Severus ever becomes headmaster someday," I joked. Lavinia actually laughed a little. It seemed like the worst of her desperation had passed, at least for tonight. I wrapped an arm around Lavinia's shoulder and also watched Aurora, whose rosebud lips were turning up every once in a while with mischievous sleep-smiles.

With painstaking carefulness, Lavinia and I were able to transfer Aurora into the basinet in her parents' room. I then insisted Lavinia take a long shower while I poked around in the kitchen, making her a hot meal. She was able to at least eat that uninterrupted before Aurora summoned her again for yet another nursing. Lavinia didn't seem nearly as stressed out now, and I continued to reassure her everything she and Aurora were doing was completely normal. While they nursed in the bedroom, I wrapped up a meal for Henry to eat when he got home then got to work tidying up the place. At least I seemed to be making progress improving my household charms since I was able to get all of the laundry and diapers cleaned and folded before Lavinia re-emerged with a happily grunting Aurora in her arms again. Apparently the little girl figured forty-five minutes was a perfectly sufficient nap-length.

Once Lavinia and Aurora were settled on the couch again, with plenty of water and snacks within arm's reach for Mom, I finished up the cleaning. I found it kind of amazing how much easier it was to get stuff done when it wasn't your own baby you were picking up after. Lavinia assured me she was alright now and that I could head back, Henry being due to arrive home at any minute. I gave Lavinia and Aurora one last hug. As I put on my cloak again, I promised Lavinia I would look in on her every day this week that I was able to leave Char with Severus for a while (I figured having an almost two-year-old trash her house again wouldn't be very conducive to relaxation.) I stepped back out into the chilly night, my heart just the littlest bit heavy. Despite the refresher of how difficult life with a baby could be, it hadn't shaken my wish to have another child with Severus someday. The sadness in me stemmed from understanding the fact that, given our dangerous situation, that wish might never become reality.


	10. Chapter Ten: Severus

CHAPTER TEN

_Severus_

During my many years at spent Hogwarts, both as a student and as a teacher, I had endured many vexatious times. For instance, spending every free moment for six straight years on homework and voluntary extra assignments and then having an asinine braggart with a freakish memory, who spent _his_ time tossing balls through hoops while riding a stick, usurp my rightful Head Boy spot by a margin of half a point had been rather irritating. Being stuck teaching a subject I was proficient in but had little passion for while the job I desired was awarded year after year to a parade of people ranging from unpardonably incompetent to downright possessed was certainly an exercise in patience. However, this year I would have gladly welcomed even a werewolf Death Eater impersonating Gilderoy Lockhart in a turban if it meant the thing that was currently being allowed to helm Defence Against the Darks Arts would be sent crawling back to under the rock from whence it came. Though Potions had never been my primary area of interest, I did enjoy teaching it under normal circumstances. I found that enjoyment to be slowly diminishing more and more with each passing day as _that woman_ exerted her influence over every aspect of school life she possibly could. It was barely two months into the first term, and I already looked forward to next summer. With any luck Professor Dumbledore would turn out right, and the curse on the position would make short work of her.

The "educational" degrees the "High Inquisitor" kept inventing were beyond ridiculous. If she continued to pass her regulatory measures at the rate she was now, I wondered if _any_ of us would have a job come Christmas, forget next year. At least for the moment, her attentions seemed to be focused primarily on Potter and stamping out the small flickers of resistance her own spy network had uncovered. That she had disbanded all student organisations seemingly out of the blue did not surprise any of us in the Order. We knew from our own plants at the Hog's Head what had been said when Potter and his friends held their infuriatingly obvious "secret" meeting to start a Defence Against the Dark Arts practise group. I had no issues personally with the formation of their club. I felt their frustration perhaps more than anyone, knowing first-hand that how well-schooled they were in magical defence could soon decide their ultimate survival or death once the Dark Lord moved into the open. But as much as I would have liked to openly support their idea, I knew better than to stick my thumb in Umbridge's eye. The students, however, had not yet realised that operating against a Ministry directive and risking expulsion was highly dangerous in itself at the moment. It was not known to them, after all, that there was someone still working at the Ministry who had no qualms about sending a pair of Dementors after one of their classmates. Whatever their training or lack thereof in Defence Against the Dark Arts was at the moment, the students' best all-over defence was staying inside the school walls.

Besides possibly stymying Potter and company, the latest Ministry decree had virtually no other lasting effect. All of the regular students clubs, from Charms to Gobstones, had received permission to reform immediately. All of the Quidditch teams were allowed to continue practicing, mine the very morning the decree was announced, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff before the school day was done, and Gryffindor soon after. Contrary to what one might think, I was in fact relieved when Professor Dumbledore interceded on Minerva's behalf. I wanted that Quidditch Cup back in my office because of my own team's merits. Having the Ministry essentially drop it into my lap by providing us with a less than level playing field held no appeal whatsoever.

Maybe the latest decree had accomplished what Umbridge had passed it for; I hadn't discovered any evidence that Potter was continuing with his idea of teaching his friends himself. However, if I felt even the slightest inkling that they had taken their education into their own hands after all, I would have no qualms about placing Potter in detention every single night of the week if that's what it took to keep him from being slapped with an expulsion order. No place in the world right now, not even at Headquarters with his godfather, was safer for Potter than here under Professor Dumbledore's immediate protection.

From a professional standpoint, the autumn weeks had passed relatively easily for me. Umbridge inspected another of my classes, the seventh-year N.E.W.T.s, which she deemed also quite advanced compared to the rest of the subjects in the school. She seemed satisfied for good this time, not even finding fault with the choice of potion the students were brewing. She left me with the impression I would receive no further visits from her for the time being. It seemed she needed to invest her time more effectively elsewhere. Word had spread through the castle almost instantly that Sibyl had unsurprisingly landed herself on probation. Professor Dumbledore reassured Minerva and I, relatively anxious about this new development since we knew the need for Sibyl to remain safely at Hogwarts like Potter, that there were ways to work around any decision the Ministry ultimately made. This gave me an additional sense of relief. Umbridge still had yet to comment on Avrille's and Char's current living situation. I only hoped that by maintaining my own usual standards of teaching, she would have no reason to address this slightly unusual arrangement.

At least I had been able to find an excuse for my family's presence at Hogwarts to offer the Dark Lord, one that had the potential to work with the Ministry as well if needed. I knew it was only a matter of time before another Death Eater brought the empty state of our Hogsmeade house to the Dark Lord's attention, so I had taken the initiative and informed him of our living situation myself. Giving the true reason that I feared for their safety because of _him_ obviously would not do. I fell back on the tried and true excuse that I was concerned about the apparent sightings of Sirius Black in the country. As the man who had brought the criminal to "justice" temporarily, it was not unthinkable that I would be concerned the maniac might exact revenge on my innocent family. Of course the Dark Lord obviously knew Black was innocent, but I had been able to paint a picture of a man utterly unhinged by his time in Azkaban and desperate to get even with the people who had killed his friends, the Potters. From my first-hand observations, I lied, Black was almost as dangerous to any Death Eater as he was supposed to have been to the Muggles he "murdered."

Though it was always difficult to guess his true mind, the Dark Lord did not appear to find fault with my explanation. He vowed, with expertly contrived magnanimity, to ensure Black met with a swift end as soon as possible so my family could once again live peacefully in the village. I wished Avrille's and Char's safety did not depend on Black's ability to keep a cool head and stay hidden at Headquarters, but I could think of no other plausible excuse when I was supposed to be working wholeheartedly towards the Dark Lord's dominion over the magical world. Hopefully Black's residence at his mother's house would be of a long duration.

The day Avrille was supposed to visit Narcissa Malfoy finally arrived. We had both agreed immediately Char should not accompany her, even though the invitation had been extended to him as well. I did not think it likely Avrille was walking into a trap, but I still reckoned it would be best if she only had herself to worry about should something unexpected arise. Hopefully the Dark Lord's curiosity would be satisfied after Narcissa undoubtedly reported back to him and that would be the end of it.

I dismissed my last class of the day several minutes early, to their immense surprise, so I could return to my rooms and allow Avrille to leave on time. Fortunately Char was already awake from him nap when I entered our parlour; I had arranged a small outing for us to coincide with Avrille's absence. Avrille had already told me she was planning on stopping by Lavinia's house to help with Aurora for a few hours after her tea with Narcissa, providing plenty of time for an excursion before she came home. I had a bit of business to attend to in London, a business that I preferred to complete without her knowledge.

As soon as Avrille had left on her own mission, I scooped Char into my arms and brought him outside the castle boundaries to Disapparate. With a turn we were immediately outside the Leaky Cauldron's door, the magic of the pub rendering our sudden appearance unworthy of notice by the passing Muggles. I wished it was possible to Apparate directly into Diagon Alley. The steady flow of people was a boon to Tom the barman's business, but it was a headache for a father trying to get to an appointment with a curious toddler in tow. Fortunately, our final destination was only a short ways down the magical street, and I had scheduled the appointment with plenty of time to spare. I certainly needed the extra minutes to steer Char away from all of the things he wanted to run up and touch. I thanked the stars at least we didn't have to pass the ice cream parlour.

As it was we arrived twenty minutes early at the plaza just before Gringotts bank, outside a stately brick building bearing a row of bronze plaques beside the entrance, the most prominent reading "_Barrow and Barnes, Wizards at Law._" Char burned a little energy scrambling up the three flights of stairs to the law offices but still bounced around happily in the foyer, climbing up and down the many armchairs set around for waiting patrons, as I told the young witch occupying the front desk of my appointment. She paused Charming the colour of her fingernail lacquer to run a cobalt tip down a list of names and times. She looked somewhat familiar, probably a student of mine at some point. Assumedly she had not been a very good one since I couldn't recall her name for the life of me. She smiled politely yet with shadow of apprehension on her face (I wondered how many points I had docked her over the years… ) and asked for me to follow her straight through, perhaps guessing it would be difficult to "work" with Char running circles around her desk. She led Char and me down a hall panelled in dark mahogany and lined with potted plants and marble busts of famous orators to the office of Julius Barrow, my personal solicitor. I thanked the secretary before she closed the door behind her, leaving Char and me alone in silence. I instantly conjured a few of Char's toys from home, which he accepted with a slightly dubious expression. I probably should have bought him something novel in a shop on our way here to ensure his occupation.

Julius had done well for himself over the years with his law partner, mostly thanks to their reputation of utmost discretion. This well-deserved notoriety meant he could charge slightly more than others in his line of work since those clients such as me with delicate pasts were usually amenable to paying an additional fee for our personal business to be kept even more private than the law mandated. Julius's office was slightly larger than my own at Hogwarts and furnished simply but expensively. A large, cherry-wood desk stood imposingly at the centre, surrounded by several chestnut brown, dragon-leather chairs. The walls were panelled in the same dark wood as the hallway, but a row of large windows along the side, almost floor to ceiling in height, kept the room from feeling claustrophobic. The north-facing windows were bare of any treatments, perhaps as a subtle suggestion the firm and its clients had nothing to hide.

I stepped up to the glass and gazed down into plaza, watching hurrying people the size of dolls while shielding my face slightly from the descending sun to my left. A rustling followed by a smack directed my attention back into the office. I looked over my shoulder to see Char groping around on the desk. He had knocked a pile of file folders onto the floor in an attempt to reach a quill standing upright in an inkwell, his toys already lying abandoned beside him.

"Char, that's not for you," I said wearily, having already uttered that same phrase around seventy times during our walk from the Leaky Cauldron. Side-stepping the wide scattering of papers on the carpet, I gently pulled Char away.

"Feavver! Feavver!" he demanded while pointing dictatorially towards the quill and began to cry with an ear-piercing screech. I conjured one of my own quills from my office, vanishing Char's unwanted toys away with an additional wand sweep.

"Is this what you want?" I asked, holding the quill out to him. Char nodded vehemently. I handed it over to him after he had stopped shrieking and used his manners instead. Char dropped to his hands and knees and began tracing the patterns of the burgundy paisley carpet with the feather tip. Sighing, I raised my wand again, intending to restack the files Char had sent tumbling to the ground but pausing when a name staring up at me from the floor caught my attention.

_Selwyn, Claudius._

After pausing to listen for any noise from the hall, I knelt down on the carpet beside the folder bearing Selwyn's name. With the tips of two fingers, I further extracted the topmost sheet of parchment that had fallen halfway out when it hit the floor. From the heading alone, I could tell instantly it was a marriage licence, having a similarly formatted document locked with other personal papers in my safe at Hogwarts for my marriage to Avrille. However, I noted with slight interest that the raised seal on a bottom corner indicated this was the original record for Selwyn, not an official copy like the one I possessed. This piece of paper should have been filed away safely at the Ministry instead of floating around Julius's office.

I read through the text of the licence quickly. According to the document, Selwyn had married an Anneliese Dresdner four years ago, Miss Dresdner being listed as nearly thirty years his junior and the daughter of a shopkeeper and a librarian from Berlin. An abbreviation denoting blood-status followed all listed names. It was always optional for any Ministry document, but most people chose to list their blood-status when it was asked. This helped those who worked in the genealogy subdivision of the Department of Wizarding Records and Magical Documents to track magical lineages more easily. Selwyn and Miss Dresdner appeared to harbour no qualms about making their families' blood-status known. Following the names of the bride, groom, and their parents, the initials "PB" were written, indicating pure-blood ancestry.

Though at first glance the licence appeared in order, my long history of studying "alternative" forms of magic gave me the sense there was something else to this seemingly unassuming piece of paper. After checking Char was still mesmerised with his quill, I raised my wand again and waved it once over the text. Nothing happened. Focusing on a different counter-enchantment, I tried again. Still nothing. Perhaps this would have convinced almost any other wizard that he had been imaging things. For me it merely served to increase my certainty that the licence had been meddled with somehow, and whatever had been done to it, it had been done very well. I closed my eyes and passed several fingertips over the parchment while muttering an even stronger incantation. Blocking out visuals gave me more of a feel for the spell, and when I opened my eyes after tapping the licence one final time, I saw immediately that it was altered.

It still listed the same wedding date and all of the same names. However, no notation of blood-status now followed the names of Mr and Mrs Dresdner. This implied that they had either never consented to have their blood-status known or, more likely, were in fact Muggles. The latter proved to be true when I noted the abbreviation "MB" after Anneliese Dresdner. It appeared Selwyn had gone to great lengths to conceal his young new wife was Muggle-born, or a filthy Mudblood in his fellow Death Eaters' eyes.

The sound of heavy footsteps and muffled voices in the hall alerted me I had only seconds to remedy the mess Char had made to avoid being caught snooping. I quickly flicked my wand to restore the licence's enchantment and to send all of the papers to their correct folders, glad to see Char was still happily occupied lying on the carpet with his quill. I stood and dropped the files back on the desk, taking a step backwards and facing the door with my wand stowed and my hands clasped behind my back just as it opened.

Julius passed through, his comfortably-fed physique draped in a set of aubergine, Italian business robes that trailed slightly as he walked. He was followed a step behind by none other than Claudius Selwyn himself. When he saw me, Selwyn started a bit but immediately attempted to hide the motion of his discomposure by shrugging his shoulders to adjust his cloak.

"Ah! Severus! I didn't realise you'd arrived already for our appointment," Julius said genially.

"Forgive me, I know I'm slightly early. Your secretary showed me in," I replied.

"Cecily," Julius sighed heavily in good-natured exasperation as he passed a hand over his bald pate and down through his wreath of white curls. "She's new and still settling in. We've been attempting for days to track down where exactly that silly girl sent half of Barnes's files when she vanished them last week for him. No matter. I can be with you in a moment, Severus. I was just finishing things up with Claudius here. You two know each other, I believe?"

I made to politely deny it, since I had never met him outside of a Death Eater capacity, but Selwyn pre-empted me by replying gruffly, "Yes, slightly. My brother-in-law used to work alongside his father."

I blinked and closed my mouth. It was news to me that we shared any connection beyond that of "service" to the Dark Lord.

"Of course, of course, that's right: Snape, Vholes and Voltore. It was unfortunate when their firm dissolved, though I will guiltily admit I appreciated the flow of business it sent my way," Julius said with an apologetic grin as he rubbed at a spot on his spectacles with a silk handkerchief. "Oh, I say! You've brought your son! What a handsome little chap." Char had managed to crawl under the desk while I wasn't looking and was peeking out at us on his hands and knees.

"I apologise. My wife an appointment of her own this afternoon. Char, come out of there," I said sternly. Julius waved the apology away with a flourish of his handkerchief before stowing it in a waistcoat pocket. He replaced his glasses on the tip of his nose and gestured for Char to remain where he was.

"No reason to trouble yourself. I have sixteen great-grandchildren, one of them a boy about his age, and they are constantly using my furniture as gymnasium equipment. Chasing them about has helped keep me young. Now," he said, turning to Selwyn, "I'll be right back with those copies for you. Feel free to take a seat, Severus. I won't be but a moment." Julius left the room, closing the door behind him once more. I wondered if the copies he referred to were duplicates of Selwyn's doctored documents. Seemingly confirming it unintentionally, Selwyn's focus darted to the pile of folders while the rest of him remained oddly still as though any sudden movement would draw my attention even more to what he was hoping to keep hidden. There was a glint of nervousness in his eyes as he directed them back to me. I realised, having not noted the exact location of the files on the desk before Char disrupted them, it was entirely possible Selwyn could tell they'd been moved. It had been slightly foolish of me not to assume that a man apparently as intent on hiding secrets from the Dark Lord as I was would not also be operating under the same heightened level of assiduity.

However, guessing Selwyn suspected me of prying into his personal affairs did not make me feel dishonourable as it would have with almost anyone else. On the contrary, I was filled with a sudden feeling of power. I knew he was one of the foremost Death Eaters who still suspected my loyalties to the Dark Lord. If he believed I knew the secret of his wife's Muggle parentage, he would be much less likely to give me any problems in the future. If he ever challenged me directly, I was not above using blackmail to ensure my own family remained safe.

I ignored Julius's direction to take a seat and remained standing where I was to keep Selwyn in full view. He broke off studying me and cleared his throat.

"You do have a very good-looking son there," he finally commented.

"Thank you," I replied guardedly. "I tell everyone he takes after his mother in that respect." Selwyn smiled a bit at my dry self-deprecation and folded his hands behind his own back, perhaps unconsciously falling into the same pose we usually shared when presenting ourselves before the Dark Lord. The stance made his broad chest stand out from his own well-cut business robes. He seemed in remarkably good shape for a man of sixty, according to the marriage licence. Perhaps having such a young wife has revitalised him.

As though knowing my thoughts, which was of course impossible due to my ceaseless employment of Occlumency, he remarked, "My wife and I are expecting a child of our own this spring."

"Congratulations." I inclined my head to him slightly. Revitalised indeed. I wondered if he was merely engaging in small talk or trying to ascertain delicately if I had in fact read through his file. I decided making him sweat a little couldn't hurt my own cause.

"You have not been married long, I believe," I added, knowing this information could have easily come from another source like the papers. My polite inquiry had the intended effect. Selwyn's cheeks coloured slightly, a decidedly unexpected response from a man simply trying to pass the time. He quickly recovered.

"Yes, just a few years." He did not elaborate, and I did not press my advantage further. His suspicion that I knew his secret was enough for now.

Though I truly did not desire to continue the conversation, I knew it would be awkward if Julius returned to an uncomfortable silence between us after Selwyn had named us acquaintances. Therefore I remarked, "I was not aware you knew my father." I suppose this shouldn't have surprised me, Selwyn being nearly the same age as he would have been were he alive today. Also, though my father had never committed to becoming a Death Eater himself, he had fostered many associations with them through his business and his personal life.

Selwyn appeared relieved I was changing the topic. "Yes, my eldest sister is married to Lycurgus Voltore. I met your father on several occasions in the past at their annual Christmas parties. Your mother as well. She was a very fine lady." I noticed he did not bother to extend the compliment to my father. I wondered if he knew how often that fine lady had been forced to choose her party clothes with the utmost care to ensure the bruises she hadn't been able to heal herself remained hidden. Selwyn discomforted me with the look of odd sympathy his face had fallen into. Perhaps rumours of my parents' stormy marriage had spread further than I had guessed when I was younger. After all, there were few pure-blood families and many opportunities for idle gossip between them.

"I'm surprised you don't bring your business to your own brother-in-law," I asked with a raised eyebrow to steer the conversation back into territory less uncomfortable for me, even though I knew perfectly well sometimes it was best to outsource personal secrets to an independent party. Family did not always have your best interests at heart.

My comment did not seem to ruffle Selwyn. On the contrary, he continued to unnerve _me_ by stating, "I, however, am not at all surprised you don't patronise your own father's old partners."

"And why is that?"

"I know there was bad blood between the three of them at the end, with your father's… illness," Selwyn remarked tactfully. Now I was certain he knew at least a little of what my father had always tried to keep quiet. He was referring to the fact that my father, finally succumbing to his alcohol addiction, had allowed his share of the business to be bought out by his partners after my mother's premature death. Knowing he was not long for the world, he had chosen to spend it wallowing in a cesspool of drink instead of going to work. But at the very least a small portion of the buy-out money remained after his death, surprisingly well-invested and therefore unable to be drunk away. The investment allowed me to pay off the remainder of my outstanding educational fees when it matured.

I was growing tired of this guarded banter and was relieved when Julius returned a moment later. The solicitor handed a thin folder to Selwyn, which he immediately vanished, most likely to a safe of his own somewhere. With a curt good afternoon and a nod of his head to the two of us, Selwyn took his leave. I hoped our paths would not cross again for quite some time. Even though I should have been holding the whip hand over him due to my unintentional discovery of his wife's parentage, I had been left feeling very uneasy. I had expected more anger or fear from him, not veiled compassion.

"Have a seat, Severus," Julius said as he took his own behind his desk. He did not look twice at the folders I had replaced. I was somewhat relieved. While I could not care less if Selwyn guessed I had been digging into his personal affairs, I would be dismayed if my long professional relationship with Julius suffered because of it.

"You were intentionally vague in our correspondence last week, I think," Julius said after I was settled in front of him and we had exchanged the compulsory greetings. Compulsory yet brief. I didn't pay Julius thirty Galleons an hour to discuss the weather. I moved Char out from under the desk to make room for Julius's legs, setting him on my lap instead. I gave him my wand to hold, knowing it was the only thing that would guarantee his complete distraction during the appointment. Hopefully he would not babble about the normally prohibited treat to his mother later.

"You're correct. The current political climate both in London and at Hogwarts at the moment has made me more cautious than usual about what I put in writing."

"Understandable, understandable." Julius, being my solicitor for fifteen years now, knew about my personal history perhaps even more completely than Avrille did. After all, he had been the one to prepare a defence for me in secret after the Dark Lord's first downfall in the event I was arrested for my Death Eater activities. Fortunately Professor Dumbledore's vote of confidence had spared me the nuisance of a trial and protected my public image, but still to this day I appreciated how Julius had only asked the bare minimum of questions to draft an expert defence. He guessed rightly there were many things I had observed and been forced to participate in during my time as a double agent that I did not want to ever discuss unless my freedom depended on it.

"I made this appointment today because I would like to revise my will," I said.

Julius nodded as he unrolled a fresh scroll of yellow legal parchment and drew his quill from the well. "I thought it might be that. I don't think we ever updated it after your marriage, did we?"

"No, we did not. I want to ensure that should anything happen to me, my wife will encounter no interference from the Ministry in receiving what is due to her and our son by law, especially if the circumstances surrounding my death are… not entirely honourable at first glance."

Julius raised his eyebrows slightly as he scratched out a line of notes in green ink but did not voice any surprise. I didn't think it at all unlikely that Selwyn had also requested the same thing during his own appointment. I knew Julius probably disagreed with the Ministry's current stance on the Dark Lord's return. Julius tried to disagree with the Ministry whenever he could on principle.

"I can pull your will, and we can make the necessary changes today, if you wish. Was that all you needed?" Julius asked when he had finished writing.

"No, there is something else." I paused, my arms wrapped around my son, holding tight to his tiny body so full of life and energy. Even sitting on my lap, Chars legs bounced back and forth as he passed my cherry wand from hand to hand.

"I wish to take out a life insurance policy."

Again Julius's brow wrinkled in surprise, though he was meeting my eyes now with his almost boyishly blue ones. He did not ask the question I knew had risen within him, why this, why now, perhaps putting all the clues together himself following a meeting with a true Death Eater. Instead he asked simply and with a touch of sadness in his voice, "For how much?"

"For as much as I can afford."


	11. Chapter Eleven: Avrille

CHAPTER ELEVEN

_Avrille_

How does a Death Eater's wife act? That was the main question on my mind the afternoon of October the twenty-fifth as I found myself standing outside the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. The question had been running through my mind for weeks, perhaps even months, though I'd only really started to seriously consider it lately after receiving Narcissa's invitation. Narcissa? Mrs. Malfoy? Madam Malfoy? I didn't even know how I should address her. Although Severus made several trips throughout the summer and fall to report in with other Death Eaters, I'd felt so removed from it all being back in Hogwarts's familiar surroundings that I'd barely given my own position within the Death Eater "family" a second thought. Now here I was, dressed in a set of my best robes and most expensive shoes, about to step a high-heeled foot into the world where the other side lived without a clue as to what I was supposed to do.

For probably the first time ever, Severus hadn't been much help. He only ever associated with the Death Eaters themselves, primarily men, and never with their families. Going to dinner at one of their houses, for example, would've been a bit of a giveaway when he was supposed to be spying secretly on Professor Dumbledore. In the end Severus simply told me to use my best judgement. He knew I wasn't an idiot and could keep safe. The silly thing was that besides just performing adequately at this meeting to satisfy You-Know-Who's curiosity, I felt the weird need to please. As far as I knew, I was the youngest "evil" wife and a foreigner to boot. It was almost like being in school again. Even though back then you'd despised the clique of rich, popular girls, most of the time you still secretly wished they'd let you sit with them at their table for meals.

I dawdled a few feet away from the gate. Narcissa had written again after I'd sent her a confirmation RSVP, to tell me the location of her home. She'd mentioned I could simply walk through the gates since I would be expected and not to bother sending a Patronus ahead. I ran my hands down my burgundy robes to smooth them out, even though they were brand new. I'd gotten them in London a few months ago when I went to help Molly at Headquarters after Severus insisted I should treat myself to something. I hadn't bought a new set of nice robes since before I was pregnant, preferring to outfit myself in Muggle clothes most of the time at home. Billowing robes were impressive when you were out in the world doing fabulous, impressive magic, but a t-shirt and sweatpants worked a lot better for chasing a baby around while having food thrown at you.

I didn't want to be late, so I finally made myself take a deep breath and step up to the gates properly. They practically glided open, not having charming character like the Hogwarts ones that squeaked and clanged whenever used. Drops of rain speckled my shoulders from steel grey clouds above. I picked up my pace, scarcely able to believe the size of the house that was growing larger and larger as I walked up the gravel drive toward it. I suppose it wasn't any larger than Greyadder House acreage wise, but the gothic style of the architecture made it much more imposing. I mean, the thing had flying buttresses and gargoyles, for God's sake.

The arched front door, thick oak with a huge, black iron knocker, brought to mind the cavernous entrance of a cathedral. I figured it was possible the house was as old as Hogwarts, though maybe when the family came into money in the more recent past, they'd tried to make it look like they'd been that rich forever. The door knocker looked ornamental and like it weighed twenty pounds, so I pulled the doorbell chain instead. I fell back a pace in surprise when the door was immediately opened by an older gentleman in livery.

"Good afternoon, Madam Snape," he said with a small bow of his silvery head.

"Oh, good afternoon," I replied, stepping through quickly when he opened the door further and stood aside, hoping he hadn't noticed my awkward backwards scuttle. I straightened my shoulders and tried to exude the aura of someone who visited enormous mansions every week. I offered up my cloak when the butler asked for it while glancing surreptitiously around at my surroundings. The entry hall was enormous and surprisingly dark for the amount of windows there were. Its stone floor and walls brought the Entrance Hall at Hogwarts to mind, but the cold, castle-like atmosphere had been partially softened by an immense blue and gold Persian rug. The hall was bare of any furniture besides a potted tree here or there but the walls were covered with what looked like the portrait of every single Malfoy who ever lived there. The portraits' pale eyes and hair gleamed in the fragile light able to find a way through the thick, diamond-paned windows. Each painted face followed my movement silently as I was led to another large door across the way.

While the entry hall had been almost bare as a crypt, the drawing room looked like a combination of an antiques store and a hunting lodge. Old, dusty animal heads, from ordinary bears to a unicorn's complete with horn, stared down glassily over a mishmash of Baroque furniture. Vases and knickknacks littered every polished surface. The butler announced me to what appeared to be an empty armchair by the hearth. A tall, blonde woman came into view as she stood up from it.

Narcissa Malfoy looked remarkably unchanged from the wedding picture I'd glimpsed before. A few lines defined her mouth and eyes now, but I thought she looked amazing for someone with a fifteen-year-old son. I imagined her vast wealth allowed her to experiment freely with the latest anti-aging potions. Her flaxen hair was wrapped into an elegant chignon at the base of her skull, to reveal a swanlike neck. She was wearing an elegant set of royal blue robes that shimmered with turquoise and copper like a peacock's feathers in the firelight. The way the robes hung on her statuesque frame proved her to be incredibly thin, perhaps unhealthily so. However, she might have simply been in excellent shape. The sharp contours of her collarbone and partially bare shoulders reminded me of a ballet dancer's. In truth there was something almost balletic about the way she moved as she crossed the room to us.

"Thank you, Hudson," she said, dismissing the butler as she extended a hand to me that seemed overpowered by the amount of jewelled bands gracing the delicate fingers.

"Welcome to my home. I'm Narcissa Malfoy. Please call me Narcissa. May I call you Avrille?" I had expected her to sound snobby and aloof, but she her words tumbled out in a breathy torrent followed by a warm smile. I wondered if she was perhaps as nervous as I was.

"Yes, of course," I replied, grateful she'd already addressed that name thing I'd been worried about.

"You have not brought your son, I see," she said, slightly disappointed and resuming an air of detachment, as she discreetly peeked behind me like I might be hiding him beneath my skirt.

"No, it isn't the best time of day for him to have an outing, with his nap schedule and all," I lied deftly. Narcissa's face remained slightly crestfallen, but she nodded that she understood. I figured that was the best excuse to give a fellow mother. However, I wondered, looking around the sumptuous surroundings, how much of their own parenting she and Lucius had done. Perhaps they'd relied on a nanny. But I was definitely glad Char hadn't come with me. The Malfoys' home was the antithesis of baby-proofed. I would've spent the entire time chasing him away from things that went smash.

Narcissa led me over to a different set of armchairs with a table between them slightly away from the heat of the fire. She tugged on a golden braided pull-rope before seating herself across from me. I noticed with a slight pang of guilt that Narcissa seemed to have dug out all of Draco's old toys for Char to play with, crates of wooden trains and magic-work soldiers taking up an entire corner of the drawing room. Before I even had a second to thank Narcissa for thinking of Char, a maid slunk into the room through a second door. I was slightly surprised the Malfoys seemed to use mainly human servants. It was common for most wealthy magical families to employ a wizard butler to tend to guests and maintain the household accounts, but usually the menial work was performed by house-elves. The Malfoys didn't seem like the type of family to free their elves on ethical grounds, like Severus's mother, so I wondered why they were shelling out the extra money for a human maid.

The housemaid's uniform was smartly pressed yet her appearance otherwise was sullen and plain. I wondered if Narcissa purposefully hired dowdy female servants to keep her husband's wandering eye disinterested.

"We are ready for tea, Hazel. You may also remove Master Draco's things. We shan't be needing them after all," Narcissa said. The maid gave a small curtsey then pulled a wand from her apron. She pointed it at the table in front of me. A solid silver tea service instantly appeared. Hazel vanished the old toys then with another curtsey, left the room without speaking a word.

Narcissa served the tea with a masterful elegance, probably having spent the time directly following her magical education at Hogwarts at a finishing school where they taught that kind of thing, instead of pursuing graduate studies like me. The scent of lavender and bergamot perfumed the air. Narcissa passed me a cup and saucer before settling back in her chair with a cup of her own.

"I apologize my husband is not here to meet you," she said. "He usually doesn't arrive home until the evening."

Apparently Narcissa had no idea Lucius and I had already met years ago, not surprising since I doubted he boasted about his extramarital interests to his wife. In order to avoid having to invent an explanation of our past association that didn't involve an Unforgivable Curse, I settled for a simple, "Maybe next time," in reply.

I complimented Narcissa on her home, to which she thanked me. I then thanked her for preparing the toys for Char even though he hadn't been able to come. She asked me several questions about Char, like if he slept through the night for me and what sort of things he liked to do. Her face lit up when I asked her how Draco had been at that age. Her dignified coolness melted into joy and pride as she described animatedly all the mischief Draco used to get into running around the manor. I could tell instantly that this was a woman who adored her child more than anything and had certainly not paid a stranger to bring him up.

"I must admit I'm slightly jealous of you," she said after a little while. "Even though you might not be living at Hogwarts still once things are settled, you'll still be so close to your son in Hogsmeade once he's in school." I found it interesting how she'd worded that; once things were "settled." It was the closest we'd come so far to discussing the hidden part of our lives we had in common. I debated veering down that path but decided not to. Even with this simple conversation, I was getting a definite feeling for how stressful meetings like this must be for Severus, and I was only sitting here having tea and a biscuit with a fellow wife. But the constant thoughts of, "_What should I say? How much does she know? How much does she think _I _know?_ _How much should I _pretend_ I know?" _were so hard to keep track of. I decided to stick to what I knew I was good at: being a mom.

"You must be looking forward to Christmas approaching," I said. "Draco comes home most of the time for holidays, doesn't he?"

Again, Narcissa's face glowed. "He does, though I know sometimes he wishes he could stay at Hogwarts all year long. He has so many friends and enjoys his studies, Severus's classes in particular."

"I know Draco is one of Severus's favourite students," I said. This wasn't completely untrue, so I didn't feel bad saying it and making Narcissa happy. Severus did appreciate Draco's good marks and his talent at Quidditch, but he wasn't personally invested in the boy. There were usually only one or two students per year who showed enough promise to warrant more than the perfunctory attention he gave everyone else as their teacher or Head of House. Those lucky students who impressed him enough were usually rewarded with a personal letter of recommendation when they applied to graduate schools in their final year instead of the form letter Severus utilized for other seventh-year N.E.W.T.s or Slytherins who asked him for one. Draco did not fall into this category of "favourite" student, but Severus did still pay him slightly more attention than some of the others. Part of this was because of Draco being a Death Eater's son, but I think more than that, Severus saw a little of himself in Draco at that age and secretly hoped to guide him into making better choices than he had.

"Draco told me he and his friends were very disappointed when you weren't able to take up a teaching post at the school. They are not very fond of Professor Sprout. I don't care for her much myself. I found her very common when she began teaching in my last year." Narcissa placed her empty teacup down on the platter with a tiny clink. I assumed Narcissa had meant "half-blood" when she said "common." Pomona was always very open about having a Muggle mother, who cultivated her love of gardening. It never mattered at all to me that she had a Muggle parent, and I considered her one of the best mentors I'd ever had as well as a close friend now that I was no longer her student (though I still felt weird not calling her "Professor Sprout" all the time and sometimes lapsed into it by sheer habit). However, as a supposedly pure-blood-leaning Death Eater's wife, I merely nodded and tried to look understanding.

We spent a little while longer discussing normal things like Hogwarts, our families, and books we had read lately. Though she hadn't continued her studies past N.E.W.T. level, I still got the impression Narcissa was incredibly intelligent. I was relieved she hardly talked about Lucius, though it was obvious from the way she spoke of him when she did that she loved him madly, no matter what his fault were. We also strangely did not speak at all about You-Know-Who or what our husbands actually were doing in secret. I was pretty much just following Narcissa's lead, and she seemed happier to stick to neutral topics. She asked me at one point if Severus and I were planning on having any more children, and I told her I would like to but was waiting until Char was a little older and less of a handful.

I asked her if she would ever consider having another to which she laughed and said, "No, I've always known I'd only have one. I think I'm far past the age where I could handle nappies and sticky mouths anymore. Draco is enough for me. He's my whole life." The artless candour of her answer moved me.

A towering grandfather clock against the wall bonged majestically for five in the evening. I told Narcissa I'd better be going to take care of Char since Severus had a lot of work to do. In actuality I was just ready to go. I liked Narcissa, but the whole environment was still strange and surreal. Narcissa summoned Hudson with the pull-rope to fetch my cloak. I put it on, thinking it was kind of amazing how we'd gotten through the whole tea without mention of the huge Dark elephant in the room.

But as soon as the butler had left, Narcissa said quietly, "I think it right for you to know, Avrille, that I asked you here today under the Dark Lord's direction." The abruptness of her change of tone, from warm and friendly to standoffish once more, startled me almost more than her words. I realized it had been stupid of me to become so comfortable with Narcissa, knowing Severus would've never been surprised by her switch. Narcissa was in an amazingly similar situation as I was, having her life turned upside down and suddenly needing to navigate carefully to ensure her family remained safe. Obviously they would come before anything else.

"That being said," Narcissa continued, her face slightly softened from the mask of cautiousness she'd thrown on, "I am truly glad we were able to meet. I would enjoy it very much if you were to come again. I would like it if we could become friends."

Her words were almost identical to those Remus had spoken to me a few months ago at Headquarters, which I found unnerving even though the clearness of her ice blue eyes led me to believe she was in earnest. Severus said secrets tended to hide in people's eyes, hence why eye-contact was almost always vital in Occlumency and Legilimency. Obviously it was possible Narcissa was simply an outstanding Occlumens like Severus, but I thought it much more likely she was simply lonely and truly desired companionship. With her husband constantly out of the house with business or another woman, her son away at school, one sister in prison and the other, Tonks's mother, disowned by their family, Narcissa probably rarely had anyone besides her servants to talk to.

"I understand," I replied. "We all must do what is asked of us by the Dark Lord. I also hope that we can become closer in our service to him." Hopefully that passed for appropriate Death-Eater-speak. It seemed good enough for Narcissa. She smiled again. She seemed relieved I wasn't angry with her for summoning me here with an ulterior motive.

"Good afternoon, Avrille," she said, and we shook hands again. I glanced back over my shoulder as I left the drawing room. Narcissa had already been swallowed up again by the huge chair by the hearth, staring into the fire and probably preparing what she would report to her husband when he came home. I hurried from the house so I wouldn't be there when he did.

My plan had been to visit Lavinia, Henry, and Aurora right after meeting Narcissa, so I Apparated from Malfoy Manor directly to their house in Hogsmeade. I'd told Lavinia I would baby-sit Aurora for them so they could go out to dinner. Lavinia had been hesitant at first. It was always difficult for a new mom to leave her baby, even for only an hour or two. However, I'd pressed her gently because I could tell she was secretly dying for a little time alone with Henry. I remembered acutely the slight disconnect I'd felt from Severus the first few weeks after Char's birth with the necessity to nurse all evening and night when he wasn't teaching.

Lavinia was practically a different person now than when I'd answered her panicked call a few weeks back. Like I'd told her, it was still far from easy, but she'd fallen into a loose routine with Aurora that allowed her to feel slightly more in control. I warned Lavinia this would soon be all thrown to the wind with Aurora's first cold or the onset of teething but assured her everything always settled back down eventually. For a couple days at least.

Aurora was a perfect little angel for me while her parents were out to dinner (they usually are with anyone besides Mommy, it seems) and happily slurped down a bottle of expressed milk Lavinia had left for her. I'd set Henry and Lavinia a reversed curfew, not allowing them to return home until eight o'clock for Aurora's bedtime. When they got back, I stayed and chatted with Lavinia after Aurora was asleep. Severus had sent me a Patronus earlier to tell me Char was in bed as well and to not rush. Half of the reason I'd been visiting Lavinia frequently was just for companionship for the both of us, along with helping with Aurora. As I sat and gossiped happily for a couple hours on Lavinia's couch, telling her all about what she was missing at Hogwarts to the best of my knowledge, I thought again about Narcissa all alone in her enormous manor with no one but her scumbag husband and a couple servants for company.

When it started to grow pretty late, I said goodbye to Henry and Lavinia. The streets of Hogsmeade were deserted, storefronts dark and shut up tight while the windows of houses shone with the orangey glow of fires lit to keep the chilly autumn air at bay. I met no one on my walk back up to Hogwarts. I hoped Char hadn't driven Severus too crazy all afternoon. As I trudged up the hill to the castle, I wondered what Severus's take on my encounter with Narcissa would be. Though he wasn't my academic teacher anymore, I still appreciated hearing his take one things since he had years of experience living under a façade of one kind or another.

I'd expected the Entrance Hall to be as empty as Hogsmeade for it was already well past curfew. I was therefore surprised to see a student walking down the stairs toward me as I crossed the hall. As we drew closer to each other, I saw it was Nan Cobble, the little Hufflepuff girl who'd charmed my heart the year I worked as an apprentice. Nan wasn't so little anymore, already a fourth-year and having grown several inches since I'd first met her. She'd also shed a little bit of her dottiness as she matured though still retained a quirkiness and lightness in her personality that had made her quite popular in the school despite her awkward beginnings. I wondered what she was doing out here so late. Nan was incredibly conscientious normally and not the type to break the rules sneaking around the castle.

"Hi, Nan!" I called with a smile, hoping to convey I wasn't going to tattle on her. I'd always felt a little closer to Nan than any other student. She'd comforted me in a very dark time when Severus had been claimed by his father's curse, though I don't think she ever understood the full impact of her support.

"Oh, hi, Madam Snape," she replied, sounding a little glum. I often wished the students would simply call me Avrille, thinking "Madam Snape" made me sound like Severus's mother or something. However, Severus insisted it wouldn't be appropriate, even though I wasn't their teach anymore.

Nan reached the bottom step just as I did, me ready to pass on the way to the dungeons and her assumedly to her common room on the opposite side. I was about to wish her a cheerful goodnight, knowing she was probably in a hurry to get to her dormitory so she wouldn't get in trouble, but I stopped suddenly when I saw her face. I regularly saw it alight with laughter during school hours but now her fair complexion looked almost ashen. Instead of sparkling with vivacity, her brown eyes stared back at me with shame in their depths before she dropped them to her feet. I recalled once again what Severus believed about eyes and secrets. Nan had both her hands hidden in the pockets of her robes even though it must have been awkard walking down the stairs that way.

"Nan, are you alright?" I asked, slightly concerned. She looked almost like she was about to faint.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied but so quietly I could barely hear her.

"Are you feeling sick? Do you want me to bring you up to the hospital wing?" I placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her and tried to make her look me in the eye again. With my touch Nan burst into tears.

"No, I'm not sick… I'm just… " She couldn't even finish her sentence, her sobs turning into gasps like she was having a panic attack. The hospital wing was several floors up, and Madam Pomfrey might have already turned in for the night, so I went with my gut and placed my arm around Nan's shoulder.

"It's ok. It's ok, Nan. Here, come with me," I said and led her quickly around the corner and down the stairs to the dungeons. Severus's office was close by, and I knew he'd have something there to help Nan calm down.

It took me a couple tries to unlock Severus's office door. He liked to cycle through several locking spells he'd invented to secure it. Nan hesitated once I'd finally gotten it open and waved some torches alight. She followed me in reluctantly when I reassured her I was certainly allowed to use my own husband's office. I steered her into a chair by the fire, the same one Severus had placed me in years before when I'd broken down in front of him after a student's attack in the school. Nan had stopped full-out crying but still seemed like she was having a hard time catching her breath. She was trembling slightly, possibly from nerves or maybe just from cold since she still had her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Severus's office was never the warmest place. I dug through Severus's potions cabinet until I unearthed a sample of a shimmering, sea-blue elixir.

"Here, Nan, drink this. It's some Draught of Peace," I said, sitting next to her in another armchair. I held out the vial, but she didn't seem to want to take it.

"It will calm you down and help you feel better," I pressed gently. Nan finally reached out with her left hand and took it from me. She held it but didn't drink. I nodded encouragingly, wondering why she was stalling. Did she suspect I was trying to poison her or something?

Finally, with a shuddering sigh of resignation, Nan pulled her other hand out of her pocket so she could uncork the stopper. I gasped when I saw the back of her right hand was bright red and raw with what looked like a dozen barely-healed gashes. Nan tried to hide her hand again after quickly pulling out the potion's cork, but I grabbed her wrist, carefully avoiding her injury, to keep her hand in view.

"Nan, what happened to your… " I began then froze in horror. I felt my skin actually crawl as the bottom of my stomach dropped out. What I'd taken to be a series of random cuts proved to be a sequence of words when I looked at her hand more closely in the firelight. A sentence was carved into her white skin in dried, rust-coloured blood.

_I must not write lies._

"Really, Madam Snape, it's nothing. Don't worry about it," Nan pleaded. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, either from embarrassment or the pain of having to use her hand for the cork. The cuts looked excruciating.

"Nan, who did this to you?" I asked in cold fury, my voice coming out hoarse. Nan screwed her eyes up tight and shook her head, sending her brown curls bouncing around her face.

"Who did this?!" I demanded, shaking her shoulder slightly with my other hand, my face inches from hers.

"Professor… Professor Umbridge," she finally whispered. "I… I had detention with her this week… "

Without bothering to ask why she, a model student, had gotten a week's worth of detentions, I leapt out of my seat and charged for the door.

"_Please_, Madam Snape! My detentions are over! It's not a big deal!" Nan called desperately, more tears choking her voice. I turned back toward her from the doorway. Nan visibly recoiled at the rage contorting my face. I felt terrible for frightening her, but I was beyond reason. It was a miracle I hadn't made anything explode by accident yet.

"Don't you _dare_ say this isn't a big deal, Nan. You will wait for me here until I get back," I said, attempting to not sound completely out of control. Even though I wasn't one of her teachers, I knew Nan wouldn't move an inch. I then slammed the office door behind me and stormed out of the dungeons. As I marched furiously up to Umbridge's office on the third floor, a voice in my head (that sounded annoyingly like Severus's) whispered I was being really stupid. I told it to shut the hell up.

I did try my best, however, to regain a little bit of composure and talk myself down on the way. It wouldn't help Nan if I punched Umbridge right in the middle of her toad-face like I wanted to at the moment and got myself arrested. Therefore I arrived outside Umbridge's office door still furious but no longer about to set her stupid cardigan on fire. I saw a light was still on under the door, so I banged on it with the side of my fist as hard as I could. A second later it opened, revealing Umbridge still wearing her school-robes and with a disgusting simper on her face.

"Why, Madam Snape, what a pleasant surprise," she gushed breathily. "What can I do for you so late?"

"You can start by telling me why Nan Cobble's hand looks like she just stuck it in a meat-grinder," I said, forcing myself to take deep breaths through my nose to try and slow my heart that was pounding from both my anger and running up four flights of stairs.

"Now I really don't think that is any concern of yours, my dear," Umbridge replied, opening her already protuberant eyes wider in mock surprise, as if I'd just rudely asked her a deeply personal question.

"It concerns me very much when I find out a child is being abused," I shot back, the pathetic attempt I'd been making to control my temper forgotten in a rush of adrenaline.

"That is a very serious accusation to make," Umbridge said quietly, the nauseating sweetness still in her voice but now cold like vapour falling from an opened carton of ice cream, "and in case you have forgotten, _my dear_, you are not a member of Hogwarts staff anymore, not that you were ever a full member to begin with. Therefore you have absolutely no say in what transpires in this school, least of all in a professor's private office. However, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, that is to say, I, have the authority, nay the _responsibility_ to dole out whatever punishments I feel best fit the crime."

"_The crime!?_" My voice rose so high in my disbelief and outrage that it nearly matched the pitch of the noises coming from Umbridge's ugly mounted plate collection, the kittens on which were mewing out plaintive cries at inappropriate intervals throughout our exchange. "She's a fourteen-year-old girl! What could she have _possibly_ done to warrant such a brutal, sickening punishment?!"

Abandoning all pretences and with the smallest hint of anger, her jowls flushed as red as the back of Nan's hand had been, Umbridge stated, "I believe I was perfectly clear before; it is none of _your_ concern. Perhaps your time and energy would be better spent reflecting on how wise it is to be questioning the decisions of the High Inquisitor. To question me is to question the Ministry. As someone who only very recently acquired British citizenship and has not had much time to prove her loyalty to our government, do you really think you should be drawing this much attention to yourself?"

I was allowed one last glimpse of her smug, self-satisfied smirk before the door shut in my face.

Author's Note:_I never expected to write this chapter so fast, but somehow it came out very easily. I think a mere four-day wait in between chapters deserves a review, don't you think? (^-^) An update this quick *probably* won't happen again, but I expect the next several chapters won't have much of a wait-time between them. We're about to get to a part of the plot I'm incredibly excited to work on._ _Thank you so much for reading! ~Renny_


	12. Chapter Twelve: SEVERUS

CHAPTER TWELVE

_Severus_

Against my better judgement, I indulged Char with a trip to Honeydukes after my meeting with Julius had concluded. He had behaved so well, all things considered, that I thought the boy deserved some sort of reward. Visiting Florean Fortescue's shop crossed my mind, but I decided to leave London as quickly as possible. Any time spent in the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade came with the risk of running into someone I might prefer not to meet outside of the Riddle House. My brief conversation with Selwyn an hour before had proved it was more than possible.

After personally selecting a modestly-sized sweet for Char at Honeydukes (fearing he might pick out something like Acid Pops if left to his own devices, which would then most likely result in a tantrum when I refused to buy it for him), I let him devour it while he ran excitedly down the High Street towards the castle. He paused for a moment in confusion when we approached our cottage halfway through the village, closed up tight for the indefinite future, but hurried along when he saw a puppy further up the road. I walked past the cottage without paying it much attention. I would always consider it my first true home besides Hogwarts and genuinely hoped we would be able live there again one day, but for now I was simply grateful Avrille and Char were living in the castle safely with me.

I was dismayed to discover upon returning to my rooms in the dungeons that far from tiring him out after a long, eventful day, the impromptu treat and dose of fresh air had driven Char into overdrive to the point where he was actually running laps from one end of the parlour to the other without stopping for breath. My lapse in prudence also meant that he wasn't hungry for dinner, having filled his stomach with a thick Jelly Slug instead. I realised I should have known better. You would think one of the leading Potions experts in the world would have some vague inkling of the effect a handful of sheer monosaccharides would have on a person only standing about two and a half feet tall. Now I knew why Avrille was always so strict about what and when he ate, especially in the evenings. Giving him a treat like that simply wasn't worth the headache. Besides acting like a human Bludger, ricocheting off the furniture and careening around the room, I had a terrible suspicion I would now be begged for additional sweets every single time I brought him into Hogsmeade in the future.

Finally, at nearly eight o'clock, Char settled down. As I was dressing him for bed, he announced he was finally hungry. He tore through a small dinner then collapsed into bed, completely dead to the world. I was relieved it was only Friday and I had the whole weekend to catch up on work, for that was the last thing I felt like delving into now. Though it was tempting to go to sleep early myself, I managed to stay awake a few hours reading for pleasure and waiting for Avrille to come home to tell me of her excursion to Malfoy Manor.

When it was nearly ten o'clock, I decided to take a quick shower to wash off the sweat I'd worked up chasing Char in circles around the sofa, trying to make him brush his teeth. Our cat, Caligula, burst from the bathroom when I opened the door. With a pang of guilt, I realised I'd forgotten about him. I had placed him in there, in protective solitary confinement, right after Char attempted to ride him around the room. Caligula must not have minded too much for I hadn't heard a single yowl from him since.

I had just stepped into the hot burst of water when a loud caterwauling sounded around the bathroom. The almost entirely marble space echoed the noise off of every surface so that it started so loudly and unexpected that I started and nearly slipped and cracked my skull open. I caught my balance on a bronze towel rack at the last second, merely straining a muscle in my shoulder as it took the brunt of my falling weight. With several choice curses, I cut the hot water and stepped extra carefully out of the bath.

Hurriedly, I dropped to my knees on the marble floor beside my pile of discarded clothes, dripping water in a puddle all around me, and extracted my wand from my waistcoat. The moment my hand touched the wood of the wand, the howling din ceased. My ears continued to ring for a moment once all was silent again. The noise had been an alarm I had set to alert me in the event the wards protecting my office were fully breached, meaning someone had just opened my locked office door.

I towelled off and redressed hurriedly in the clothes I'd just removed. Leaving the bathroom, I confirmed with relief that the heavy wooden door had prevented most of the noise from leeching into the bedroom. Char still slept soundly. I placed a small Sleeping Charm on Char to make sure he didn't wake up in the few minutes I expected to be gone; Avrille would kill me if she found out I was absent when he was possibly crying.

I wasn't expecting there to be a real intruder, but the alarm would have to be reset now that it had been triggered. With all likelihood the perpetrator was simply Peeves making his usual mischief. I had been firm enough with him in the past where I knew he wouldn't dare to actually disturb anything in my office, but he would no doubt find it highly amusing, upon discovering I had rigged my office with an alert system, to trip it then watch with glee as I was dragged from my private rooms to set things to rights.

The only other possible explanation would be Umbridge snooping around. There was precedent for it since a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had trespassed there last year, when the younger Barty Crouch was impersonating Moody. But I thought this unlikely. While Crouch had had the need to steal potion ingredients on top of trying to find incriminating information on me to pass to the Dark Lord, I had been very careful so far to give Umbridge no reason to suspect I had anything to hide. It also seemed pointless for her to risk something like breaking into a fellow professor's office when it would probably only take penning a letter to the Minister to make another irritating decree giving her the legal right to search all of our offices anyway. Not to mention Umbridge enjoyed having an audience watch her freely abuse her power.

So, not truly anticipating anything out of the ordinary as I reached my office, I was surprised to see light shining under the door. I didn't hear any noises coming from inside, yet I drew my wand as a precaution nonetheless. Assuming the door was unlocked, I threw it open to reveal one of my students, Nan Cobble, sitting in front of my fireplace. She had turned towards me expectantly when she heard the door open, as if she had been awaiting someone, but the look of horror her face fell into assured me instantly it had not been me.

"What are you doing in here, Miss Cobble?!" I demanded striding into the room towards her, half in anger and half in curiosity. As far as I knew, Miss Cobble had never broken a school rule since arriving here. It also made little sense that she would be simply sitting there and not in the middle of stealing something or trying to alter her marks.

At my harsh tone and to my extreme discomfort, Miss Cobble broke into tears as I loomed over her. I swallowed a sigh of annoyance. I positively detested it when the students cried.

"I'm… I'm so… sorry, Prof… Professor Snape." She seemed barely able to string two words together in her agitation. "Madam… Madam Snape… told me… to wait… "

I held up my hand to stop her before she hyperventilated and backed a few paces away to give her room to breathe. I leaned against the edge of my desk and crossed my arms. This made slightly more sense. Avrille would be able to bypass the lock on my door easily, though I'd never got around to telling her I'd set an alarm as well. She had not been living in the castle during last year's odd circumstances, so it seemed unnecessary for her to know then. Later, I'd simply forgotten. I also knew Miss Cobble was a favourite student of hers, though I still had no idea why Avrille would bring her in here at all.

Miss Cobble was still crying, though the intensity had diminished somewhat from the initial outburst. Feeling an interrogation would send her over the edge again, I asked calmly, "What is that you have there?" while gesturing at a flask clasped in her hand.

She took a deep, shaky breath and managed to say with only a few hiccoughs, "Some Draught of… Peace, sir. Madam Snape wanted me to… drink it."

I could see the flask was still full of potion, so I said, "You should take it directly, then please explain to me why you are out of your dormitory afterhours, and in my office of all places."

Miss Cobble nodded and drank the potion in a single gulp. The effect on her was immediately apparent. Her tense posture melted, and she fell back against the armchair as though exhausted. Her shoulders now rose and fell in regular, slow intervals. I would have to remember that trick next time Char seemed ready to bounce to the moon.

"I was returning to my common room after detention when I met Madam Snape in the Entrance Hall. I… was upset and not feeling well, so she brought me in here. She said it was ok to be here, sir," Miss Cobble pleaded, obviously worried she was going to end up with another detention from me.

"You are not in trouble, Miss Cobble," I said. "Am I correct in assuming the detention you had tonight was with Professor Umbridge?"

She dropped her head and nodded while worrying the empty potion flask between her hands. I was not surprised by her confirmation. Though Potions wasn't her strongest suit, I knew Miss Cobble was a decent student. The only person I could think of who would put decent, hardworking students in detention was _her_. I was also aware of a reason why Umbridge had motive to move against Miss Cobble particularly.

"What happened after Madam Snape brought you here?" I asked.

"She got me the potion because I couldn't catch my breath. Then…" Miss Cobble hesitated. She looked up at me, and I inclined my head slightly to the side and raised an eyebrow for her to continue. With a deep breath, she said, "Then she saw my hand and left, telling me to wait here for her."

"Your hand?" I inquired, confused. Miss Cobble slowly raised her right hand, and I could see words had been carved into the back of it, as though with a scalpel. Revulsion and fury rose within me, but I was very careful not to let it show on my face or slip into my voice when I said, "I see. And do you know where Madam Snape went?" even though I already guessed the answer with deep resignation.

"Um… to Professor Umbridge, I think, sir." Miss Cobble looked apologetic. I couldn't prevent a heavy sigh from escaping me this time. I crossed the room to stand before her again. Miss Cobble recoiled slightly as though she expected me to strike her.

"Give me your hand," I instructed, trying my best to sound kind. It was not a tone I usually employed when speaking to students. Miss Cobble looked up at me warily but held her injured hand out to me nevertheless.

"I'm going to heal it," I explained when I saw her eying my still-drawn wand with understandable suspicion. I took her hand dispassionately, glancing at the bloody words in utmost distaste, and placed the tip of my wand to her skin. At that moment Avrille stepped through the open doorway. She halted for a second when she saw I was there but then continued in until she stood right beside us.

"So you've seen it, then," she said to me. To Miss Cobble, Avrille probably sounded composed, but I knew my wife's moods well enough to hear in her voice that she was so far past anger she had descended into deadly calm. This was merely the eye of the storm for her. I needed to get Miss Cobble back to where she belonged before everything went to hell.

I locked eyes with Avrille for a moment, hers a brown inferno, before turning my attention back to my student. As gently as I could, I drew my wand over each cut three times. To her credit, Miss Cobble only hissed quietly in pain even though I'm sure at first it hurt like the injuries were being sliced anew. Indeed, I did have to open the skin back up slightly with the first passing over. The way it had been knitting back together was jagged and would have surely scarred if left to heal completely on its own. With the second trace, I cleaned the wounds of dried blood, and with the last spell, I wove the skin back together so no sign of the repulsive punishment remained.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly.

"It would be best if you did not mention I helped you," I said. "If Professor Umbridge happens to ask, you will tell her it healed overnight with the application of Murtlap." Miss Cobble nodded that she understood. "You should return to your dormitory now. It's late."  
"Wait," Avrille interjected, placing a hand on Miss Cobble's shoulder to keep her sitting. "I want to know why she got in trouble in the first place."

"Miss Cobble has been through enough tonight," I said quietly, but with finality. "She needs rest." Avrille looked like she wanted to argue, but with another meaningful look from me, she stepped back and allowed Miss Cobble to rise. I was surprised to see she was almost as tall as Avrille now, nearly unrecognisable from the little flibbertigibbet who had been included in our wedding party at Avrille's insistence. Just as she passed through the open door, I walked over to it and called to her in the corridor.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, turning back to me.

It was with slightly vindictive satisfaction that I said, "Twenty-five points to Hufflepuff, Miss Cobble." The low-burning torches cast little light off of the dank stone walls, but I could make out Miss Cobble smiled in surprise. I do not believe I had ever awarded her a single point for anything before. Hopefully the rarity of my approval would help her recover from her injustice more quickly. But the last thing I wanted was for the students to think I'd grown soft, so I added cooly, "Be sure your homework is up to scratch for Tuesday. It would aggrieve me to have to dock them back again." She nodded soberly then hurried away towards the Entrance Hall. I stepped back into my office and closed the door.

As I'd expected, Avrille asked immediately, "Where's Char?"

"He's asleep, don't worry," I replied. "I've set a charm to alert me if he awakes. I had one set on my office, so I had to come check when you triggered it accidentally.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know." Her tone sounded genuine, but her posture told a different tale. She was still standing with her arms crossed tightly like she was physically holding herself back from doing anything else reckless. I hated to pry, knowing I was setting myself up to bear the brunt of her barely checked fury, but I had to know.

"What have you done?" I asked quietly. The change in dynamics of no longer having a student in the room was immediately apparent. I was glad I was still across the room from her because the flashing in her eyes as she glared made me fairly sure she would have slapped me if I'd been any closer.

"What have I done?!" she yelled at me. "What have _I _done?! I did what I hope _any_ decent person would do! I went and told that disgusting woman what I thought of her and her _torture_!"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to compose myself. That was basically what I'd feared, but I had still been holding onto a shred of hope that an actual confrontation between the two of them hadn't taken place. Avrille's fiery passion, which had been one of the first things to attract me so strongly to her, was usually a boon but could be a downfall sometimes. I feared that tonight the latter would prove to be true. As much as I'd stressed the need for caution to her since Umbridge started working at the school, I had known deep down it would only be a matter of time.

"We have to go tell Professor Dumbledore," Avrille said, her voice shaking.

My eyes shot open. "No!" I said with vehemence.

"What the hell do you mean, 'No?'" she demanded. "What that woman is doing is completely fucked up, Severus! He has to put a stop to it!" Though her word choice alone proved she was angrier than I'd ever seen her in my life, I hadn't needed the colourful vocabulary to prove to me she wasn't about to let this depravity go unaddressed. With her initial outburst at me, the fire in the hearth had flared and continued to roar ominously, steadily raising the temperature in my office with each passing second. I resisted the intense desire to loosen my collar and instead took the risk of moving closer to her so we were only a pace apart.

"I mean that it's possible he's already aware of the situation," I tried to reason. "I find it hard to believe anything goes on in this school without his knowledge. But if he doesn't know what she's doing, we cannot bring it to his attention."

"But _why_? He would never allow something like this to go on. He can't know!"

"This is part of the reason why I objected to you joining the Order," I said, biting back the mounting frustration I was feeling towards her at the moment. "There is always another angle to consider. _Nothing_ is ever simply black and white." Avrille took a step back so she was leaning against the armchair and glared at me. I wished she didn't look so ravishingly beautiful when she was angry.

"I know that," she growled from a clenched jaw.

"I don't know that you do," I said. I hated pressing the matter, but I had to be sure something like this didn't happen again. It wasn't much of an exaggeration to say all of our lives depended on it. "But Professor Dumbledore knows as I do that sometimes small sacrifices must be made to avert a catastrophe later on."

"I refuse to believe that he'd allow children to be hurt so cruelly in his own school," Avrille said, almost pleadingly. Two watery lines of disbelief or indignation appeared on her lower eyelids, but she blinked them away as she turned her head towards the fireplace. She seemed to have finally noticed the furnace she was causing unintentionally, to my relief, for the flames recessed to merely licking the charred logs. I placed my hand on her shoulder.

"There are two possible scenarios: either he knows, or he doesn't. If he does, it means he is grudgingly allowing Umbridge to do what is in her right—" Avrille snarled at that, but I pushed on, knowing I _had_ to make my point. "—What _is_ in her right according to the school's charter. Because it was drafted centuries ago when people held a much different view of children, there is a provision allowing for the use of corporal punishment. Of course, none of the staff for years have ever believed it was appropriate to utilise, and if one had, I'm certain they would have received very strong censure from the headmaster. However, Umbridge isn't a regular staff-member. She was appointed by the Ministry, not hired at the will of Professor Dumbledore. Even if he isn't aware of the specifics of her detention practices, he knows that things would be far worse if he challenged the Ministry right now and found himself sacked or worse, arrested.

"But you're right that it is also possible he truly has no idea. In that case, there is a chance he _would_ protest vehemently if it were brought to his attention, which could result in those punitive actions being taken against him. Professor Dumbledore is the best protection the students have right now. If he was removed, not only would the Ministry be able to have even freer will to abuse the students, but it would also mean the children would be in much greater danger from the Dark Lord. Since the Ministry is refusing to acknowledge his return, they could think all of the security measures in the school are unnecessary and do away with them. I know you hate everything about this situation, but it is essential that you understand that the possibility of all the students being victims of the Dark Lord is far worse than a couple dissenters suffering a few hours of pain at the hand of a sadistic teacher."

Avrille continued to stare into the fire with her lips pursed. A single tear finally broke free from her lashes, and she wiped it away impatiently with a little sniff. After a few moments, she nodded curtly that she understood. Though I longed to let the matter rest, I still needed to prepare for the inevitable.

"What exactly did you say to Umbridge tonight?" I asked quietly, rubbing her arm slightly while placing my other hand on the side of her face so she'd finally look me in the eye.

"Why does it even matter? She made it obvious what I thought didn't make a difference," Avrille spat dejectedly. "Apparently she's right."

"It matters to me because I love you, and it matters because I need to know what sort of retribution to expect."

This sobered her somewhat. While staring at my chest, she recounted matter-of-factly the brief exchange between them. I thought her refusal to look at me directly might mean she was now ashamed of her actions, but she repudiated that notion by adding at the end of her explanation, "But I don't regret it one bit." I had to smile despite myself. I was glad I hadn't shamed her because though it was inconvenient sometimes, her love for the students, the same ones who normally drove me to distraction with their immaturity, was something I truly admired.

"I know." She let me embrace her finally. "What's done is done. We just need to be prepared to face what might be coming."

When the following morning dawned, neither Avrille nor I seemed quite as on edge as the night before. It's not that I was deluding myself that the events of the previous night would have no repercussions, but that after a good night's sleep, we both felt more prepared to handle them. Before we had gone to bed, Avrille had finally been given the chance to recount her meeting with Narcissa Malfoy to me. I was impressed and proud of how she had handled herself. I made sure to tell her that in no uncertain terms, knowing I had been forced to be harsh with her in my office.

However, even though she held no ill will towards me for the events of the previous night, I could tell Avrille was still burning with curiosity as to why Miss Cobble had landed in trouble in the first place. As we ate breakfast, I showed Avrille something that would hopefully help her finally let go of the issue. After ordering our meals from the kitchens, I pulled out the most recent copy of the school's bi-monthly newspaper, _The Hogwarts Herald_, and handed it to her just as a large silver platter appeared in front of her on our dining table.

"What's this?" she asked me.

"I'm hazarding an educated guess that it is the answer to your question from last night," I replied. "Turn to page sixteen."

She complied curiously, rifling through pages containing the usual articles on Quidditch predictions for the season and the latest in school club news until she reached the second to last page. Char had bounded over to us when he saw the platter arrive and similarly scampered back to his toy dragons after I'd handed him a croissant. Caligula risked a rare daytime emergence to beg for a taste of bacon. After I dropped him a tiny piece—the cat would be as large as Char soon, otherwise—he picked it up in his teeth and bolted back under the sofa to enjoy his treat in peace.

I watched Avrille in slight amusement as she read, her eyebrows rising higher and higher with each sentence until they'd disappeared completely behind her fringe when she reached the end.

"Wow," she said. She folded the paper in half and laid it on the table so the article in question was facing up.

"My sentiments exactly," I said, buttering a pastry for her and placing it on her plate. It rested beside a photograph of Nan Cobble, beaming and waving energetically, to the right of a small but boldly-set headline reading, "Junior Editor Nan Cobble Claims: 'Our Umbrage at Umbridge Temporary.'" The article had in short stated decisively that while Umbridge's current presence at Hogwarts was as welcome as an invasion of Pogrebins, the professor would not last the entire school year.

"Perhaps now you can see why Miss Cobble had a week's worth of detentions," I said.

"Forget detentions, I'm amazed she wasn't expelled! I mean, you said Harry Potter had detention with Umbridge just for shouting at her in class. This was circulated around the entire school," Avrille said in between bites of breakfast.

"What I can't figure out is why she felt the need to write the article in the first place. It's true no Defence teacher has lasted more than three terms for years now, but why risk being punished for forming a theory based on a pattern that might break at any time?"

I admit it freely. I was still smarting over Professor Dumbledore's reason for not hiring me to teach Defence this year.

Avrille sat back against her chair and sipped her coffee. After a moment she said quietly, almost as though to herself, "Maybe Nan truly _knows_."

"What do you mean?"

Avrille looked up at me with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe she does actually know for sure. There's something about Nan I never told you." She then told me of a conversation she had held with the girl on our wedding day and how Miss Cobble had informed Avrille that she possessed a similar magical gift as my wife: the ability to dream of the future.

"We never talked about it after that day," Avrille said, "so I don't know exactly how her visions work. Mine always seemed to be happen very close to the prophesied event, within a day or two of the dream, but it's not unheard of for people to predict events months, even years in the future. Maybe she had a dream of Umbridge leaving and felt compelled to share it with everyone?"

"We can only hope," I replied bitterly. "I would have appreciated it if Miss Cobble had provided us an with an exact date of that woman's departure. Knowing how long this indignity will last would make suffering through it marginally more bearable."

"Maybe she'll risk a follow-up article next month," Avrille suggested. "I hope she won't because of those disgusting detentions, but the punishment might have simply made her more determined to stand up to Umbridge."

I shook my head and placed my napkin down on my empty plate. I didn't have much of an appetite this morning. "She won't have the opportunity. I heard the school's paper has been shut down indefinitely. They were briefly given permission to reform at the beginning of the month after the latest _decree_," I sneered the word, "but that permission was revoked the morning this issue was published."

"Stifling the press," Avrille said wryly. "One of the first moves of any totalitarian regime."

"And assuredly not the last."

The rest of the weekend passed quietly. I hadn't expected any trouble since I never saw Umbridge outside of school hours. I think she mostly kept to her private rooms on Saturdays and Sundays, having no reason to emerge. Casual socialisation with the other teachers in residence at the school was the least of her concerns. Therefore the first time I saw her myself after her confrontation with Avrille was at breakfast Monday morning in the Great Hall. She did not speak to me, but I did not like the smug smile that spread across her pouchy face when our eyes met as we took our respective seats. My mind was not given a chance to run wild imagining what unpleasantries she might have in store, for it was distracted by the arrival of an owl with my post.

The tawny bird dropped a letter in front of me before disappearing to rest up in the Owlry. I never considered owning an owl myself, preferring to rely on ones belonging to the school. They might sometimes be slower, but using a different owl each time made it much harder for anyone to intercept and read my post. This was especially relevant now. It had come to the staff's attention recently that Umbridge was attempting to read several students' letters, despite the interference being completely illegal. I didn't believe she had yet dared to try intercepting any staff post but figured the idea had crossed her mind.

At least I was certain this letter had not been tampered with. The charm on it made it difficult enough to me to open, even though I was the intended recipient. Breaking the charm proved my suspicions that it had been sent by Julius. No lawyer worth his exorbitant fee would allow a business correspondence to go out without protection. I could tell from the strength of the charm that Julius had set it himself, perhaps not yet trusting that flighty secretary of his to do the job up to his standards. As an extra measure, Julius was intentionally circumspect with the letter's contents.

He wrote that he had looked into the transaction we had discussed on Friday, meaning the life insurance policy, and had made inquiries at Gringotts on my behalf. Halfway down the letter was a quote. I tried not to choke on my tea when I read it, even though I had known the several hundred thousand Galleons of coverage I desired would not come at a pittance. Julius reassured me this was a very reasonable premium. He also encouraged me to act on it as soon as possible. The offer was good for a month, but it was his experience that the price of similar coverage during a previous time of disquiet, _i.e._ the Dark Lord's first reign of terror, increased exponentially at an alarming rate. Basically, the more danger people found themselves in, the more money the Goblins wanted to protect their own interests. Because the Dark Lord had yet to move into the open, the Goblins could not charge what they wished, suspecting themselves that he _had_ truly returned. To do so would most likely bring Ministry regulators down on them hard to keep people from asking inconvenient questions.

I placed the letter in an inside pocket of my robes, intending to accept the offer directly. Though the price would cut into my savings temporarily, I might be able to offset it with my Christmas bonus. Professor Dumbledore had provided me with an ample one each year in gratitude of my particular services to his cause. I just had to hope that until then, Avrille wouldn't notice anything was amiss. She usually left our finances to me by choice because of the complexity of my established investments and also owning two properties. With any luck she wouldn't have to know what I had done.

After breakfast I had resigned myself fully to having to endure a "surprise" inspection by the High Inquisitor. Finding some pathetic reason to put me on probation seemed the perfect retaliation for her. I did not really expect her to move against Avrille directly. Because Avrille was not a teacher, I didn't think Umbridge could have any leverage over her. I'm sorry to say that I underestimated the hag, though it was for the very last time.

Umbridge did not inspect any of my classes, nor did she engage me at all during lunch or dinner. I spent the evening meal in intense discussion with Professor Dumbledore about a recent article in the _Practical Potioneer_. He often enjoyed poking fun at some of my "hot-headed, youthful" theories, even though they had so far granted me more personal publications in the periodical than Professor Dumbledore himself. I think he mostly did it to keep me constantly questioning both the established attitudes and my own conceived interpretation of the art. Even though he was no longer a teacher by occupation himself anymore, teaching was so ingrained in Professor Dumbledore's very being that nothing could ever make him stop. For my part, I was always honoured that he still considered me worthy of his attention and instruction to this day.

Our debate was a long one and hadn't concluded by the time we were finished eating. I followed Professor Dumbledore out into the Entrance Hall, determined to have the last word before we parted at the staircase. I halted mid-argument when I saw a knot of students grouped around Filch. They were attempting to read a notice he had just pinned beneath the steadily growing collage of educational decrees passed by Umbridge and the Ministry. Filch didn't seem to be as much in his element as he usually was when a new proclamation limiting the freedoms of the students went into effect. Instead of eyeing the students beadily and muttering joyously under his breath at them, he merely shrugged his shoulders and shuffled away once his job was done.

I wondered what this notice could be; upon approach with Professor Dumbledore, I saw it appeared to be in a slightly different format than the usual ones. The students parted to make way for their headmaster as he drew near. From their expressions, they all appeared as unbothered as Filch. I assumed that meant it couldn't be that bad. However, my breath caught as I stood beside Professor Dumbledore and read:

Educational Decree Number Twenty-two: Addendum  
_In addition to the provision of Educational Decree Number Twenty-two, giving the Ministry the right to appoint an appropriate teaching candidate should the Headmaster of Hogwarts be unable to provide such a candidate himself, all persons of age who are neither employed by Hogwarts nor a student of said institution are hereby banned from residing within said institution. _

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

I barely noticed the steady increase in chatter around me as more and more students exited the Great Hall to flood the area around the notice board. My mind was paralysed, my eyes refusing to move from the words, "_banned from residing within_... "

It was worse than I had feared. Far worse. Umbridge couldn't know the full implications of her newest pet rule, but it accomplished much more than simply driving Avrille out of the school so she couldn't voice her opinion there anymore. Umbridge was unintentionally removing the best protection my wife had against the Dark Lord. If she was not able to stay within the walls of the castle and under Professor Dumbledore's protection by proxy, there was nothing to keep the Dark Lord from moving against her should I disappoint him somehow in the future.

My attention was finally torn away from the notice board when I registered the Entrance Hall had fallen silent. I turned to see the students had formed a semicircle around Professor Dumbledore and me, with an opening facing the Great Hall's doors. There Umbridge herself now stood, dwarfed under the towering lintel and oozing an aura of utter self-satisfaction. My fellow Heads of House stood to the left of me, giving the headmaster and me some room yet still close enough to show their support, knowing this newest pronouncement was intended for me alone. Minerva's face was as stony as the granite walls around us. Filius glanced furtively between my face and Umbridge's as though ready to physically leap to my defence at any moment. Pomona appeared on the verge of angry tears, understanding her dear Avrille was being singled out for censure.

Umbridge took several stunted steps into the Entrance Hall until she stood in its very centre. The students nearest to her fanned out and away, forming two long lines on either side that stretched from the notice board to the other side of the room. Most of the students seemed apprehensive or baffled. I noted with pride that nearly all of my Slytherins were shooting glares of sheer venom at the High Inquisitor.

"I see you have read my newest decree, Headmaster," Umbridge said with barely-contained girlish delight. However, though her words were addressed to Professor Dumbledore, her focus was entirely on me. I kept my face impassive and refused to be the first to break eye contact.

"Indeed I have, High Inquisitor," Professor Dumbledore replied with a gracious bow of his head. Umbridge finally looked his way, and her triumphant leer broadened.

"However," he continued, "I confess I am slightly at a loss as to how a decree of this nature is relevant. To my knowledge, there is not a single living person of age residing in my school who is neither a staff-member nor a student."

Professor Dumbledore's subtle possessive did not go unnoticed by Umbridge. She narrowed her eyes at him, yet did not show any diminishment in her self-assuredness. I remained standing beside him stoically. I had no idea what he was playing at. Everyone in the entire school knew my wife and child were living with me in the dungeons.

"Forgive me, Headmaster, but it is commonly known that your, _ahem_, knowledge has been often lacking as of late. There is without a doubt one person in particular who is directly affected by this incredibly necessary decree," Umbridge said, turning her frog-like eyes to meet mine again. I still refused to show any sign of alarm. I had no idea how Professor Dumbledore could get Avrille out of this mess, but on the slim chance he had a plan, I couldn't appear to doubt him.

Professor Dumbledore brushed off Umbridge's insinuations of his senility with a charming smile as though nothing would please him more than to be told many more times how he was being rendered obsolete.

"Forgive _me_, High Inquisitor, but I must regretfully insist that you are indeed mistaken. I will readily admit you _would_ have been correct had this newest decree been put into effect yesterday. Fortunately, the one person who it might have affected, Madam Avrille Snape, has since joined the Hogwarts staff as of this morning."

I nearly turned to him in surprise, but a stern voice in the back of my mind, that of my own razor-sharpened instinct, told me to not move a muscle. I was almost certain Avrille had no idea she had just become a staff-member again. I highly doubted she would have failed to mention it to me at some point during the day.

Umbridge's fake smile appeared soldered onto her face like she was attempting to burn Professor Dumbledore straight through with the intensity of her gaze. His genuine smile grew even wider, showing a line of perfectly preserved teeth beneath his silver moustache.

"I have received no knowledge of this appointment, nor are there any empty positions to be filled by anyone. As High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, it is my duty to sanction any teacher in the school and my right to block their appointment should I feel that person is lacking in specific desirable qualities," Umbridge said waspishly, her self-controlled veneer slowly cracking beneath Professor Dumbledore's unbothered benevolence.

"Of course, as High Inquisitor, all of that is within your right. You have the power to appoint a teacher should I be unable to provide an appropriate candidate, as well as dismiss any teacher you find to be not up to scratch. However, I have not hired Madam Snape as a teacher, therefore she is not under your jurisdiction. I have employed her as Personal Assistant to the Headmaster. I'm afraid devoting a great deal of time leading the fight against Lord Voldemort has left me slightly behind on various, necessary administrative tasks."

At both Professor Dumbledore's airtight explanation and his use of the Dark Lord's true name, Umbridge's composure fell to pieces. Her face darkened to a disturbing plum pudding-colour as it twisted into an ugly scowl, and she bunched her stubby fingers into tight fists at her side.

"I forbid it!" she screeched. Glancing around at the looks of disdain being given her by the students and other teachers, she cleared her throat and continued slightly more calmly, "_Hem hem_. That is, I will have to check with the school's governors and the Ministry to see if such a position is allowed with regards to the yearly budget."

"I will save you the time and direct you instead to Section Fifty-Seven, Paragraph Four, Line Eight-C of the school's charter which clearly states the Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts is allowed to hire as many persons to ensure the smooth running of the school as he or she deems fit. I trust you are familiar with the school's charter? You have been making free use of several archaic sections of it yourself, from what I understand." Professor Dumbledore said this last bit with a chill in his voice and with no twinkle dancing in his eye. Umbridge's face blanched somewhat to a mere salmon hue, but she said nothing.

"Come, Severus," Professor Dumbledore said to me lightly, "if you would follow me to my office, I have several papers for you to give to Avrille to ensure her first month's pay will be deposited in a timely manner." With that he swept from the notice board, I following a pace behind him and still exuding an air of being completely in the know. The students broke apart to let us pass. When I glanced down discreetly as we turned the stairs to head to the next level, I saw mostly everyone was dispersing besides Umbridge. She remained standing in the centre of the hall, watching us climb away from her with narrowed eyes.

Professor Dumbledore and I remained silent until we reached the safety of his office. It had been many weeks since we'd dared speaking about anything of consequence in the corridors.

"I do have some paperwork for you to bring to Avrille," Professor Dumbledore said when we reached his desk. He handed several sheets of parchment to me, many of which had already been filled out nearly to completion with his long, slanting hand with only a line or two bare for Avrille's signature. "I have had this prepared for a while now. Knowing the type of people both Dolores Umbridge and Avrille are, I assumed it would only be a matter of time before she tried to force Avrille out. However, I did not know it would be tonight. Therefore you will have to explain the situation to Avrille the best you can. Please apologise to her on my behalf for taking the liberty of thrusting this position on her. I felt it was the only way to keep her in the castle and safe."

"I'm sure she will understand," I said, glancing over the documents and very impressed with his forethought, "and be very appreciative."

"I will try to make use of her when you are free to watch Char, but in the event I need her assistance during school hours, tell her I would be enchanted if he came along. I think I have enough breakable objects to keep him entertained for quite some time." Glancing around at the numerous Dark Detectors, I had to say I agreed with him.

The sun had nearly set, and fingers of darkness were already creeping over the tower office's windowsills. I knew I needed to hurry back to the dungeons to pass all of the evening's events onto Avrille before she found out from another source, but there was one thing left I wanted to know.

Professor Dumbledore stood off to a side, pouring himself a small brandy. He offered me one, which I refused, asking instead, "So you did know, sir? About Umbridge's detentions?"

He turned back towards me, cupping his snifter filled with a splash of amber liquid in one hand. I was startled to see his amused expression from a mere moment ago had fallen into cold fury. He reminded me of paintings I'd seen of a vengeful Zeus.

"Oh I've certainly known what that woman has been doing to my students," he said ominously. "And I think you know why I have allowed it to continue, against my very conscience." I nodded that I did.

"Sacrifices must be made."

"Indeed." Professor Dumbledore's expression melted into a mixture of sadness and regret. "Sacrifices must be made, and I hate to consider that not too long from now, we will wish for the time when a single professor was merely carving punishment into a student's flesh for her own enjoyment."

_Random Silly Author's Note: Page 16 = Page 3+9+4 _


	13. Chapter Thirteen: SEVERUS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_Avrille_

The last thing I'd expected after telling Umbridge to her face that I considered her a disgusting, sociopathic child abuser was to suddenly find myself a member of Hogwarts staff again. Well, I suppose Umbridge suddenly breaking down in tears of remorse at my feet and wanting to be my best friend forever was probably the absolute last thing I would have expected. But being hired by Professor Dumbledore was definitely in the bottom five of likely outcomes in my mind. Even though it was a result I'd never considered possible, I was actually pretty happy about it. I knew after my talk (ahem, minor fight) with Severus in his office that I would need to chill out and consider the consequences of my actions even more carefully now. I assumed that meant I would have to seethe in silence, hidden away in the dungeons to prevent any further incidents. I had no idea my lapse in self-control would cause me to almost lose the privilege of living safely at Hogwarts. Severus's news floored me when he recounted the newest decree Umbridge had invented purely to get back at me for speaking my mind. He remained apprehensive about the whole situation, even though it seemed to me Professor Dumbledore had acted in the best way possible. Severus was incredibly grateful to Professor Dumbledore, but he was still concerned how it would look if You-Know-Who found out I was working for the man Severus was supposed to be spying on. He figured he could give some explanation that I was providing him with even more confidential information on the headmaster, but he still wished things hadn't gotten complicated in this way. He didn't want my protection from the Ministry to result in us being in even greater danger from the Death Eaters.

Professor Dumbledore addressed this very concern my first evening of work for him. I'd followed him up to his office after dinner later in the week of my appointment, relishing glimpses of Umbridge's furious face as she stomped up the stairs behind us before stalking away to her own rooms. I was careful not to challenge her with any eye contact, but it was still pretty gratifying to know she was powerless to do anything. Once we were settled in his office, which always smelled like a combination of old leather and Arabian incense, Professor Dumbledore took a moment to explain both what he expected of me and also the issue of my safety. He was certain Umbridge wouldn't move against me anymore as long as he remained in charge.

With regards to You-Know-Who, he would focus all his effort making sure the details of my new occupation did not leak out. In the event that they did, he would assemble information for me, including a fabricated paper-trail, that I could pass on to You-Know-Who through Severus to make it look like I was simply taking advantage of the situation to benefit my Death Eater husband. But with any luck, that eventuality wouldn't even come to pass.

The work Professor Dumbledore "needed" my help with was basically stuff he could've done easily on his own. He apologized that most of it was far below my qualifications but admitted allowing some of it to slide was in fact giving him more time to focus on his crusade against You-Know-Who. One of the tasks he set me on right away was scanning newspapers, both magical and Muggle, from around the country for any mention of mysterious disappearances or suspicious events that could indicate Death Eater activity. I have to say sitting by a warm fire for evenings on end, reading newspapers while sipping a glass of expensive dessert wine that I'd not been allowed to refuse was not the worst job I've ever had. It certainly beat staying up all night writing evaluations for Severus during my apprenticeship, no matter how much I'd been in love with him. Not to mention I was actually getting paid this time.

I spent several weeks on that job alone, working my way through a pile of periodicals Professor Dumbledore had been forced to pass over while he dealt with more important school matters. He didn't expect I'd find much, in which he was correct since most of the things the Death Eaters were doing lately were not newsworthy at this point. Unless you place the Imperius Curse on someone with a reporter standing in front of you taking notes, chances are no one's going to find out about it. Still, the headmaster wanted to make sure no scrap of information was being overlooked. Along with scouring the news, he also put me in charge of sorting his mail, a task I was honoured to be trusted with. Ever since the _Daily Prophet_ had started running a slew of articles declaring him a dementia-stricken has-been, letters demanding Professor Dumbledore's resignation, sent by idiotic parents and other people who considered their stupid opinions important, flew in daily in an almost never-ending traffic of owls. Professor Dumbledore accepted these notes of censure with amused insouciance, claiming they were no different from thousands of others he'd received over the decades. The volume had simply increased recently. As with the newspapers, he merely wanted to make sure none of them contained possibly important information or true threats from actual enemies.

Hagrid finally returned from his task of making contacting with the giants for the Order in early November. Despite our relatively close relationship, he being the first person I'd formed a friendship with at the school years back, he was annoyingly vague about both his mission and his relentless injuries. Not talking about why his mission had taken so long I could understand, knowing some details were for Professor Dumbledore's ears only, but his constant cuts and bruises really worried me. Hagrid assured me over and over nothing was wrong. Professor Dumbledore seemed unconcerned himself when I mentioned them to him, so I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on my own work.

One evening during the first week of December, Professor Dumbledore seemed more distracted than usual. I'd already spent a couple hours reading and sorting his mail. Char had joined us right after dinner to "help" while Severus supervised a detention. Char loved coming up to the headmaster's office, unsurprisingly. The large, circular room gave him plenty of space to run around happily while I tried to concentrate on reading. He loved to pretend to help with the mail too, grabbing fistfuls of discarded envelopes and shoving them into empty boxes Professor Dumbledore provided for his amusement. The only thing I really didn't like was how Char seemed unable to keep himself away from Fawkes the phoenix. Even though Professor Dumbledore insisted it didn't hurt Fawkes in the slightest when Char dangled his entire weight from the bird's tail-feathers, I still reprimanded him until he pouted and changes activities. I didn't want him thinking that was ok to try with Caligula and end up with his face mauled.

It was late, nearly eleven o'clock, and Severus had come to collect Char for bedtime hours ago. Even the portraits around the office had turned in for the night, many resting their winkled tempera faces on fluffy pillows they stashed out of sight behind their enormous chairs during the day. Fawkes dozed contentedly on his perch with his copper head under a burnished wing, emitting musical chirrups occasionally to join the surrounding noise of quiet snores and snuffles. For over an hour Professor Dumbledore had been milling around his bookshelves, the ceaseless brush of his trailing, dove-grey robes over the polished tile floor telling me of his apparent distraction as I finished up scanning last week's issue of _The Sunday Times_. It was wasn't like the headmaster to not settle himself with a similar occupation. I glanced up at him curiously a few times as I read whenever I heard him stop for a period of time. Usually it was in front of a section of books locked behind an iron grate. Professor Dumbledore had generously offered me free use of his private library the night I started work for him. I'd already borrowed several books but never asked about the volumes hidden behind the metal bars. Even just standing near that section of books with their black, cracked spines made me feel physically uncomfortable. I wondered with prickly apprehension if the physical barrier was to keep potential thieves out or the books themselves in.

After the fourth or fifth time of staring at these mysterious tomes, Professor Dumbledore turned toward me and saw that I was done reading.

"All finished?" he asked lightly, coming closer to where I was at the center of the room in front of his desk.

"I think so. I didn't find anything, unless you want to hear about that MP's Russian mistress and her new book deal."

Professor Dumbledore chuckled as he settled himself in his throne-like chair behind his desk so we were facing each other. "It never ceases to amaze me how one little story in a newspaper can completely ruin a previously respected person's life overnight."

"And the important events like war and human rights violations are pushed aside to make more room on the front page for countless follow-up articles," I said.

"Very true," Professor Dumbledore said, nodding sagely. "It is one of the reasons I detest the things. I must express how much I appreciate you sacrificing your own intelligence temporarily to wade through such sordid details in vain search of a scrap of truth so I can focus on other matters. But besides the time you spend here, how have things been for you lately, Avrille?"

"Alright," I admitted truthfully with a little shrug. "I've just been trying to stay in the dungeons as much as possible during the day to avoid… well, you know." Professor Dumbledore's cerulean eyes twinkled at my purposefully abbreviated sentence. "It was easier earlier in the year when the weather was better, and I could take Char outside to play more. I wish I could simply Apparate somewhere southern with him to spend the day, but Severus doesn't think it's a good idea for me to leave the castle often."

"Unfortunately, I have to say I agree with him," Professor Dumbledore said. "Voldemort rarely works in a way that draws attention to himself or his location. I have no doubt his spy network will have infiltrated every corner of the country before the general public is forced to acknowledge something is amiss."

We simply sat for a few moments. A clock ticking the seconds away along with the puff and hum of all the headmaster's gizmos were lulling me into drowsiness. I tried to focus and stay alert. Professor Dumbledore hadn't explicitly dismissed me yet, so I assumed there was something he still needed. Once more displaying his uncanny knack of appearing to read my mind, he said with his voice heavy with solemnity, "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I can't delay it any longer. There's something I need to ask of you Avrille. Something unimaginably important as a member of the Order."

"Of course! What do you need done?" My heart quickened, bring me back to full attention.

Professor Dumbledore raised a thin, long-fingered hand, sending the soft wool of his dusky sleeve to pool around his elbow. "Though I am honoured by your immediate willingness to help, there are two conditions you must first agree to before I can even begin to discuss this topic. Then I must feel that you fully grasp the gravity of the task before I allow you to accept it."

"Okay… " I replied, with a feeling of trepidation crawling up my back from the base of my spine like a long-legged spider. A suspicion was forming in my mind that all of the evenings I'd spent in the tower office were in preparation of this one conversation. I didn't believe Professor Dumbledore had any ulterior motive for hiring me besides the kind desire to keep me safely in the castle, but I also knew beneath his grandfatherly façade, he was the man most dedicated to destroying the Dark Lord. He had said when I joined the Order that I would be a valuable asset to the group. At the time I'd thought he was simply being kind, since whatever talents I might possess had so far gone untapped. But watching Professor Dumbledore battle with himself whether or not to even continue, I realized I was a trump card of his that he was finally ready to put into play.

"Please understand that I believe firmly the trust between a husband and wife is something sacred and not to be meddled with. I do not think any relationship can benefit from withholding secrets. In the past I have tried to keep many secrets myself so as to not burden other people with them. Unfortunately, I have come to see throughout the years that this has often done more harm than good. Therefore, knowing I simply cannot defeat Voldemort once and for all on my own, I must ask for help where it is available. In essence, I'm asking reluctantly if you'll shoulder some of that burden."

"You're saying that whatever you tell me, I can't tell Severus," I said, looking for clarification.

"Yes," Professor Dumbledore replied. I could tell his roundabout way of asking had been motivated by how uncomfortable the topic made him. Severus had rarely said it overtly, but I knew he considered Professor Dumbledore to be almost like a father to him. The sorrowful depths in the headmaster's eyes showed me he felt the same way.

"It is essential that the information I impart to you, should you chose to hear it, does not leave this room. Severus's life, and the lives of many other people, depend on it."

Without hesitation I replied, "I swear I won't ever tell anyone." That doesn't mean that was taking any of this lightly. But I figured that if leaking this information could put Severus's life at risk, it followed logically that used correctly and without his knowledge, it could also save him. There was no need to consider the consequences of agreeing to hear and protect secrets that could help keep Severus alive.

"The other condition I have is that you fully understand what I wish to ask of you is most likely extremely dangerous. It is very possible you could be put in a life-threatening situation. Under normal circumstances, I would never ask someone so young and the mother of a small child, no less, to risk so much. However, I do not believe there is anyone else as capable, and this task _must_ be accomplished."

"It doesn't matter what it is. If it will help Severus and the Order, I'll do whatever you want."

Professor Dumbledore sighed heavily and nodded. He didn't ask me to make a formal vow like when I joined the Order. I think he knew as well as I did that my wedding vows to Severus, promising to love and protect him for eternity, were far more powerful and meaningful than anything he could swear me to.

"Very well. Please bear with me, for I need to explain a little background information first. As I'm sure you have surmised, I've been hard at work since Voldemort's return last summer to discover a way for him to be defeated once and for all."

"Severus mentioned you were often gone from the castle during break," I commented.

"I was. It was easier for me to work before the appointment of Dolores Umbridge to the school, though I am glad to say her presence here is not as disruptive to me as she believes it is. Her constant monitoring has slowed my progress to a degree but certainly not stopped it. Not to mention I've had years of time working with the Ministry's blessing and assistance that makes these past few months of attempted hindrance rather inconsequential. I've been studying Voldemort and his particular manipulation of Dark magic in depth ever since his rebounded curse failed to kill him as well as young Harry Potter. I knew almost immediately why Harry had survived. I was not, however, completely sure why Voldemort remained tethered to the earth in spirit form. Having studied the theory of Dark magic for purely academic reasons throughout my life, I had an idea, a horrific yet plausible idea, but no way to prove it."

I leaned forward unintentionally in my chair, wondering if I was about to learn the secret of You-Know-Who's power. Professor Dumbledore smiled at my obvious eagerness.

"I am going to have to beg your forgiveness for being maddeningly vague with my information," he said, squashing any hope of mine that he was about to spill everything. "I assure you it is not a matter of trust. I trust you implicitly. Blame it on my fixed habits of living for decades as an educator. I've always been unwilling to pass a theory off as fact until I've proven it beyond doubt. For that reason, I do not feel comfortable discussing my theories about Lord Voldemort with anyone until I have more physical clues that I'm not barking up the completely wrong tree."

"I understand," I said truthfully, though I was a little disappointed.

"Out of sheer luck, I was handed one such clue three years ago, the year of your apprenticeship, that started me thinking I was on the right track after all. Since then, and especially after the events of last summer, I've been spending every free moment conducting interviews and seeking out similar physical evidence that will hopefully allow me to paint a complete picture of both Voldemort's history and the extent of his powers. So far in this quest for knowledge, I have been able to operate alone and with clear direction. However, during the course of my inquiries throughout the country, I stumbled inadvertently upon a place that might prove a key piece in the puzzle. I strongly suspect another bit of tell-tale evidence is hidden there. The fundamental problem lies in the fact that I cannot get to it."

I eyed Professor Dumbledore quizzically. It seemed impossible that there was anything he couldn't do or any spell he couldn't overcome. He sensed my slight disbelief with a good-natured laugh and sat back in his seat with his hands crossed over his stomach.

"Oh, I have long ago realized there are limits to my power, like any other decent witch or wizard. I think the refusal to admit the same to himself, especially that there are powers even greater than anything he could imagine, will eventually be Lord Voldemort's downfall. I will admit, however, that I was not expecting to be thwarted so completely by something of his construction. I am almost always able to unravel the workings of one of my former students. I think the trouble stems from the fact that the spell protecting this place seems to have been created with the specific purpose of keeping anyone Voldemort deemed a true threat out, meaning, if I may be the smallest bit immodest for a moment, it was specifically fashioned to resist _me_. In fact, whatever secret this place is hiding, Voldemort considered it either so valuable or so dangerous to himself that no man at all should be able to even approach it. No _man_. Do you understand now the incredibly simple crux of my own failure?"

"You need a woman," I murmured. Could You-Know-Who have really overlooked such an obvious flaw in his defenses? Professor Dumbledore nodded, seemingly pleased I'd caught on so quickly.

"One of Voldemort's greatest weaknesses is the belief, unfortunately held by many narrow-minded wizards, that the magic of witches is somehow inferior. I'm sure Severus has told you there are barely any female Death Eaters. Because Voldemort does not value the magic of witches enough to include more than one or two of them in his inner circle, it shows that he feels witches are less to be feared, not as much of a threat that warrants keeping a close eye on. Voldemort's mistake in this instance was his reliance on such a baseless prejudice.

"That's not to say any witch would be able to break the enchantments that repelled me so successfully. Though he may disdain some aspects of magic, Voldemort was and still is a true master of his own craft. But the chink in his armour lies with the fact that while I don't think it's possible any wizard could break the protections sealing away whatever Voldemort deemed so important, a truly gifted witch has the slightest sliver of a chance. There are very few witches I know of who have amassed the decades of study needed to circumvent such a complex spell. Minerva, I'm certain, could attempt it, but I'm afraid she's too obvious a supporter of mine. It's likely she's being followed any time she leaves the castle, by both Ministry lackeys and Death Eaters. It is essential no word gets back to Voldemort that this place of his is being infiltrated. Anyone else I can think of is already either allied with the Death Eaters or has too close a relationship with the Ministry for me to trust them with this secret.

"But though you have not spent scores of years studying magic, your innate, genetic gift means you have just as good a chance as any of these other highly esteemed women. You are also one of the most perfectly tailored individuals for this particular situation. You are relatively low profile, thanks to Severus's fierce protection of his family and your own efforts to appear completely innocuous to the Death Eaters. But most importantly, you more than anyone stand to benefit from keeping this task completely to yourself. Too late to make a long story short, but in the end, you are my only hope of breaking through Voldemort's enchantments and possibly retrieving what I believe is lying hidden there. Even if in the end it turns out to be something completely different than what I'm expecting, whatever it is, it must be something Voldemort values and therefore can be used against him."

I know I probably should've taken at least the night to think it over. It was also pretty irresponsible of me to even consider doing something like going up singlehandedly against one of the Dark Lord's most complicated and dangerous spells when Char was barely old enough to talk and completely dependent on me for the entire day when Severus was teaching. But like Professor Dumbledore had said, he never would have asked if he had any other recourse. If I truly was the only person who could possibly bring Professor Dumbledore this mysterious clue that he needed, there really wasn't any choice for me at all. Severus could never be free until the Dark Lord was dead. Even if I had to risk my own life to bring that about, I would.

"Please tell me everything you know about this place, and I'll give it my best shot," I responded almost instantly, my previous thoughts flashing through my mind in a jumble of instantaneous emotion.

Professor Dumbledore nodded sadly, the regretful half-smile lifting a corner of his moustache showing me he had never really expected me to refuse. He sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward again to rest his arms on his desk. Leaning even closer myself, I saw he had silently conjured a map that his wrinkled hands were now pressed flat against.

"For the past few months, I've been following fractions of clues, half-forgotten memories, and unwilling whispers to discover as much of Lord Voldemort's past as I could. Some of it I already knew myself. For instance, I knew that he had grown up in a Muggle orphanage, not knowing who his parents were besides the fact that his mother had died while giving birth to him at that very institution. He had been named Tom Marvolo Riddle after his own father and his mother's father. These facts were already in my possession because I was the one Professor Dippet, the headmaster preceding me, sent out to explain the fantastical opportunity awaiting young Tom if he made the easy decision to leave his old life mostly behind and come to Hogwarts to be instructed in his birthright of magic. Obviously Tom jumped at the chance to leave his meagre surroundings and in seven years managed to fashion himself into one of the most brilliant students the school has ever seen, complete with a dedicated following of other young people his age.

"So taking into account the partial history I was already apprised of, I've been following various leads stemming from unanswered questions in Voldemort's life. First and foremost: who were his parents? The name of Marvolo is quite singular, and certainly unusual for a Muggle. I allowed myself the educated guess of assuming his mother had been a witch. The father I wasn't so sure of, but her desperate plight of giving birth amongst Muggles and dying from a complication that is completely unheard of with a birth presided over by a qualified magic-user led me to believe the father of Baby Tom was most likely a Muggle man who had abandoned his wife or lover upon learning of her status as a witch. We have, of course, since learned exactly who his father was due to Voldemort's current habitation of the man's old property, the Riddle House. I think we will discover his mother's history to be somehow linked to that place as well.

"Starting with these bare bones of a shaky hypothesis, I spent most of the summer, and now as many days through this term as I can without my absences being too noted by our lovely Hogwarts High Inquisitor, conducting interviews with people and tracking down places that might shed some light onto Voldemort's ancestry. This search, which has brought me to the four corners of Britain, has resulted in an interesting by-product; I've also, here and there, caught faint traces of Voldemort's magic. Some led to dead ends, a former flat in London he might have occupied after leaving school that now has no more significance than his old dormitory in the dungeons—which, believe me, has been searched thoroughly several times in the past by both Severus and myself. Some trails are more promising, but I have yet to follow them completely to their end. But one… just one of them was created by such immense power and with such malicious intent that I knew straight away Voldemort had been there and altered the space with his own unique signature of Dark Magic.

"Forgive me, I'm rambling again. I'm sure you're most desirous of knowing _what_ this place is and where you can find it. Interestingly enough, it is another institution: a Muggle insane asylum, or psychiatric hospital I believe is the preferred term nowadays, though this particular hospital was abandoned many years before it would have been renamed as such. It is here, standing derelict and forgotten except by aimless vandals and thrill seekers, in the heart of Somerset, as you can see on the map," Professor Dumbledore gestured to a mark on the parchment in front of him with the tip of a middle finger, slightly crooked with age.

"Now what significance this place held for Voldemort is anyone's guess. Perhaps it will turn out to have something to do with his father's family, though I doubt it, being the highly esteemed members of the Muggle social world that they were. But… it's not out of the question. It was not unheard of in the previous century for ill members of a rich family to be sent far away and kept locked up to avoid a scandal.

"What most intrigues me is this hospital's relative proximity to Godric's Hollow." Professor Dumbledore placed his forefinger down on a spot only a few inches away from his middle finger, the space between the shallow V they created showing the two locations were only about twenty miles away from each other, according to the map's scale.

"Now anyone in our world can tell you Godric's Hollow is one of the most important places in Voldemort's personal history. After all, he nearly met his end there. However, I have reason to believe Voldemort might have visited Godric's Hollow years before he returned there to murder the Potter family. Voldemort has always been obsessed with Hogwarts and its founders, so Godric's Hollow, the birthplace of Gryffindor himself, would have certainly been a place of interest for him. What I have absolutely no idea of is why this nearby hospital has any relevance. Voldemort harboured an intense hatred for anything relating to the Muggle world, and for institutions in particular.

"Therefore, my task for you, if you still wish to aid me, is to travel to this site, to where this Dark magic was worked in the middle of the wild forested grounds, and discover what it is about this place that made Voldemort so determined to keep anyone from knowing anything about it."

I sat back in my chair, absentmindedly biting my thumbnail and trying to process all of the confusing, ambiguous things he'd told me. I ran my hands through my hair a couple times and took a deep breath. I knew I wanted to help, I just wasn't sure how I could do it without Severus finding out. There was only one window of opportunity I could think of.

"I know you need this done soon so that you can continue with your other research, but would it be possible for me to attempt it in a few weeks? Severus has already said he will be visiting his mother's grave right before Christmas. I'd prefer to go and do this while he's away. If I can avoid lying to him about it and simply keep him unaware that I'm doing anything at all, it would be better for everyone, I think."

"That sounds like it might be the best course of action to me as well. Nothing depends on the solving of this mystery so completely that it can't be postponed for a few weeks. That will give you time to prepare physically and mentally, and also allow you a chance to reconsider if you need to."

"I won't change my mind," I said, almost harshly. Surprised at myself, though knowing it was motivated by being overtired and emotional, I quickly apologized and added, "I give you my word. I don't know if I'll be able to break through these defenses you spoke of, but I'll do my absolute best."

"I have no doubt of it," Professor Dumbledore said, and for a moment I saw a hint of the same concern he sometimes showed when looking at Severus as he held his gaze unwavering and sadly on me.

My delicate plans almost collapsed when Arthur Weasley was almost mortally injured on guard duty at the Ministry. Of course my first concern when I heard the news was for Arthur's life. The thought of that kind, warm-hearted man lying on the floor of the Ministry covered in blood with poison spreading through his veins made me nearly throw up when Severus recounted the event to me in a hushed torrent while Char played happily beside us. Besides obvious worry for Arthur and his family, I couldn't help feeling a small stab of fear since I had no backup plan regarding childcare for Char when I needed to go on my mission. I suppose if left with no other choice, I could ask Lavinia, but I still felt it would be safest to leave Char with a member of the Order due to the sensitive nature of why I needed to leave him behind in the first place. Fortunately by the time Severus stopped for lunch the day after the attack, word had been passed subtly from Professor Dumbledore to him that Arthur had survived and was likely to make a full recovery.

I waited an entire day before contacting Molly to let her know I was thinking of her and her family, but even then I didn't mention the arrangement we'd made from fear of sounding callous in her unimaginably difficult time. However, being the amazing and selfless woman that she is, Molly replied almost instantly with gratitude for my concern and to ask if it would be alright for her to watch Char at Headquarters instead of at the Burrow on Friday. She and her children were going to be staying there through the holiday to be closer to Arthur at St. Mungo's. This I agreed to wholeheartedly, and offered her my sincerest thanks myself for still doing this for me considering what had just happened. A final note from Molly told me to think nothing of it. She knew I needed to complete an assignment for Professor Dumbledore without Severus's knowledge of it. Personally, she considered watching Char both a joy and also a duty as a fellow Order member.

The term ended without incident, besides a casual inquiry of Umbridge's into how Harry Potter and the Weasley children had managed to slip out of Hogwarts in the dead of night without using any of the Ministry-watched methods of transportation. She still didn't quite dare to confront Professor Dumbledore directly, so she settled for barraging the staff instead. Severus, as always, had handled himself magnificently when she questioned him in her office the next day. According to him, when she asked in her most sugary voice, indicating her mounting frustration at the lack of answers coming her way, if he knew anything about the activities of the previous night, he had answered coolly that he was sure he had no idea since, fortunately, none of the offending students were in his House. As he left her office, Severus said her face was a mixture of the usual desire to trust the seemingly straight-edged head of Slytherin with her inherent reservations of forming such a trust because of his relationship with me. The matter of the midnight Gryffindor getaway seemed like it would go unsolved.

Friday afternoon saw nearly all of the students leave the castle to board the Hogwarts Express back to London. The several professors who lived at the castle during the year and who were not House Heads also mostly packed up and left to enjoy their two weeks of leisure time with family and friends. Most likely not having either of those, Umbridge appeared to be staying throughout the break in her own quarters at the castle. She probably told herself that if she left, the ten or so students staying behind at the school would certainly be engaging in subterfuge the entire time, and she'd return to find a full uprising on her hands.

Everything seemed to be in motion for Severus to go the day after the students left to visit Greyadder House on his mother's death anniversary. In the weeks leading up to it, I'd been half-worried he'd find some excuse to put it off for another year like he had been. But I think seeing the state of the property in the summer had hammered home his need to fulfill his duty. My anxiety was alleviated further when I saw Severus disappear into our bedroom as I was giving Char his dinner and heard the opening and closing of wardrobe doors followed by a peek of him standing at our bed directing a set of clothes to fold itself into a bag with his wand.

Saturday morning, the twenty-third, dawned frigidly icy, but clear. Not that that really meant anything since the duties of both Severus and myself would be taking place that day on the completely opposite side of the country from Hogwarts. Nevertheless, I felt in my heart the beautiful blue sky was a sign of auspiciousness.

Sage-turquoise, sunlit lake water pressing against the parlour windows served as a backdrop for our breakfast together. Severus rarely ate in the Great Hall during holidays, except when a feast required it of him. None of his Slytherin students had stayed behind for Christmas. This rose all of my hopes. Knowing he had far less responsibilities waiting for him back at the castle, it was likely Severus would take his time at Greyadder House and not return until tomorrow to spend Christmas Eve with us. It also meant that when he did come back, we'd have two whole weeks of uninterrupted time to spend together as a family. This couldn't have come at a better time. Char had started the practice of rolling his eyes and heaving overdramatic sighs of, "Daddy gone, again?!" at bedtime since Severus had been kept overly busy with supervising the detentions of students apparently too excited by the prospect of Christmas to do their homework.

Severus had already said a few weeks ago that he would go alone to Greyadder House. He cited the freezing weather and the poor state of the property as reasons for me and Char to stay back at Hogwarts, but I expected he wanted some privacy when conducting such a personal, emotional duty. I had offered to accompany him before I had spoken with Professor Dumbledore about the secret task at the asylum. I asked once again that morning, mostly sure Severus would say no again, but thinking it would be the natural thing to do. The last thing I needed was to rouse his suspicion by appearing to want him gone for a couple days. Fortunately he repeated his insistence that it would be boring and cold for Char. My anxiety started to mount once more as Severus seemed to dally and delay throughout the morning. First he wanted to make sure all of his paperwork was in order, even though he had already turned his term marks into Professor Dumbledore two days ago. Then he wanted to wait until Char was up from his nap to say goodbye. Finally, when the winter sun had reached its shallow apex and begun its gradual descent behind the western mountains, Severus gave me a lingering kiss, sent his small pack of clothes ahead to the house, and left us behind to walk from the castle and Disapparate. I'd half wanted to pull him against me and bury my face in his shoulder for hours since I had no idea what I would soon be facing in my task for Professor Dumbledore. Instead I listened at the door as Severus's even footfalls grew fainter along the stone passageway until all I could hear was the low howl of a draught trying to force itself into the room from under the door.

Once I was sure Severus had gone, I gathered up Char and slung his bag over my shoulder. Yes, it was just a bag, not the mountain of things I thought he had needed that time I brought him to Lavinia's house on the evening of my first Order meeting. I'd found a great article in _Magical Mothering_ that suggested using an Expandable Charm on a diaper bag to suddenly fit all of those things as a mom you _knew_ your baby needed, but didn't necessarily want to be seen carrying around like a crazy packrat. The charm ended up being very useful in this circumstance since I truly didn't know how long I'd be away, Char might actually need all of his bedtime and daytime things. I also wasn't sure if the enchantments protecting Headquarters would allow me to conjure items there from the castle, not to mention being seen toting a train of luggage behind me as I walked down to the castle gates would look suspicious to anyone watching me, especially Severus if he hadn't actually left the grounds yet for some reason. To solve that problem, I had the excuse ready that I was taking Char down to see Lavinia and Baby Aurora. I would hate to lie to Severus's face, but at this point, I really wouldn't have a choice.

Fortunately, I saw no one at all as I held Char's hand and let him up the dungeons steps, through the Entrance Hall, and out the enormous castle doors. Like he always did when walking through the castle recently, Char had tried to bolt from me to look at the giant Christmas trees in the Great Hall. I firmly steered him back on course with a promise that as soon as we were back from our little outing, I'd let him run around the Hall as much as he wanted, owing to the fact there weren't any students there at the moment. Severus must have already truly left, for I didn't see him as we trudged through the ankle-high snow to the school gates. Once through I scooped Char into my arms and immediately Apparated to Grimmauld Place. So far everything was going according to plan. If I just kept pushing forward and never actually stopped to think about how I was about to pit myself against the Dark Lord's magic, I'd probably be ok.

Remembering to simply let myself inside instead of ringing the noisy bell, I brought Char in the house. At first I thought I had stumbled into the wrong building. The front hall was unrecognizable from the last time I'd been here months ago. He might not have been able to go out on missions for the Order himself, but Sirius had certainly not been idle. Everything was finally clean and polished, the old dying gas lamps replaced with new fixtures that lit the whole house with a cheery light and reflected merrily off of the numerous Christmas decorations on display. I wished I had more time to see the rest of the progress Sirius had made, but my time was an hourglass that had already been flipped, invaluable minutes trickling away like dust as I stood here admiring the place. Molly was soon at my side, doubtless having heard Char's squeals of delight when he noticed the "funny Santas" on the wall (Sirius, for some reason, having put beards and Santa hats on the mounted house-elf heads instead of just tossing them. Eew.)

"This should be everything he needs," I said to Molly as I handed her Char's bag. "He has a change of clothes, plus his pyjamas if I'm not back by his bedtime, which is usually eight o'clock. He has some toys and snacks, but I'm sure he won't want any of his own things."

"Well, of course not!" Molly agreed with a laugh. "Why would he want anything you actually paid money for when there's a perfectly good troll-foot umbrella stand to play in?" Indeed, Char had already climbed into said umbrella stand, the rim of which came up all the way up to his nose. "He'll be just fine, Avrille. Try not to worry."

"I'll try," I said as convincingly as I could. "Can Mommy say bye-bye?" I asked Char. Char surprised me by lifting his arms up in the air so I could hold him again.

"Bye-bye, Mommy," he said into my neck then planted a wet kiss on the side of my ear.

"I love you," I whispered, breathing in his little boy smell, a comforting mixture of his clean hair, warm skin, and a little bit of peppermint from the candy cane he'd been messily eating after his lunch. Forcing tears back so Char wouldn't think there was anything wrong, I handed him to Molly and wiped the corners of my eyes discreetly with my coat sleeve. I almost lost it completely when Molly gave me a big hug as well.

"He'll be safe, so keep yourself the same way," she said bracingly. "We'll see you back here soon."

"Alright, see you soon," I agreed, then hurried out the door.

I took a few minutes to linger on the stoop and calm myself. The atmosphere around me didn't lend itself well to relaxation with car after car noisily ploughing through the thick slush on the roads and a stereo somewhere nearby in the neighbourhood blasting hard rock renditions of Christmas carols through a cracked window, probably open to balance out an overactive city radiator. Even though I didn't want to leave, I knew without a doubt I was making the right decision. As I stepped forward onto the stoop to Apparate blindly into unknown danger, Severus's words from weeks before came back to me, as clear as if he was standing in front of me, saying them again.

"_This is part of the reason why I objected to you joining the Order… _Nothing_ is ever simply black and white."_

_I love you, Severus, but you're wrong. Sometimes things are perfectly black and white._


	14. Chapter Fourteen: SEVERUS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

_Severus_

As an icy costal wind buffeted me, I wished the magical protections around Greyadder House kept out more than just people. I had Apparated to just outside the front gates, the first time having done so on my own since the death of my father. Before now I had always entered the estate from the surrounding forests so as to pass the family mortuaries on my way to the house. The brief pilgrimage to that a small village of death combined with suffering the bleak December climate without any allowed magical relief had together served as a yearly punishment for the few moments of foolish gloating at my father's deathbed that had nearly resulted in me living my entire life under the curse of celibate solitude. But now that my father's Death Wish curse had been banished by Avrille's love and faithfulness, I didn't feel the need to force penance anymore. Therefore I wrapped a comforting Warming Charm around myself as I pulled my cloak tighter, out of the grasp of windy fingers that seemed intent on yanking the billowing wool from my neck and sending it swirling out to sea.

I waved my wand at the gate to command it to admit me then strode up the scattered gravel drive. I cast an apprehensive glance at the mounting steel-grey clouds above me. The weather must have been relatively mild here in the south lately since no snow or ice covered the lank brown grass that stretched for acres in each direction before giving way to the tangled underbrush of the surrounding forest. The fierce gusts of wind combined with the assembling of vaporous giants above me made me fairly certain this lack of winter precipitation would very soon be remedied. I picked up my pace so I was practically jogging up the hill. Of course I could still complete the necessary work in a storm, but even if I employed a host of spells to keep away freezing wind and snow, it would not render me completely comfortable. Nature was one of those forces in the world that would triumph over human magic every single time.

The thick clouds completely blocked any hint of the fragile winter sun. I needed to keep my wand out to guide my way to the house, even though I should have had a few hours of light left. I hurried inside the front doors of Greyadder House and made a cursory inspection of the ground floor. My spells from several years ago to maintain the integrity of the building seemed to be holding fine even though I hadn't refreshed them recently. I set a new charm to warm a guest room directly off the stairs on the first floor where I intended to spend the night, then made my way back outside. One task I was determined to complete on this visit was cleansing the residual Dark energy from my parents' bedchamber, where my father had cursed me years ago. Until now I had avoided that wing entirely, either out of cowardice, an attempt to wilfully ignore the past, or unresolved anger, I'm not sure which. Perhaps it was all of them combined. But since I no longer had to worry about the curse, I wanted any remnants of it in the house gone. Deep respect for my grandfather Edmund, whom I had never met but still admired as a boy, made me want to return his house to its former glory someday, even if I never returned to live here myself. I knew it was partly because of his generous gifting of his unique wand to me that I had been able to deceive the Dark Lord for so long.

But all of that could wait until later. I wanted to perform the most important duty, tending my mother's gravesite, before a blizzard started outside that would impede work on the grounds. I left the house through the ruined conservatory, where Avrille had once met the spirit of my mother in a dream that ended up saving my life. The significance of that room made it second on my list of places in the house to restore. For now it would need to remain as it was, empty but for brown stalks of long-dead plants and some discarded iron furniture, red and flaking with rust.

The cold air brushing my face felt as though it had already dropped a couple degrees in the brief time I had been inside. With growing urgency, I crossed the northern lawns. I waved my wand in a sweeping arch in front of me as I walked, vanishing any dead leaves in my immediate area so fresh grass could grow healthily in a few months' time. My nearly silent approach to the forest startled a lone doe, who had been nosing hopefully through the grass for any hidden green. She froze in a half-crouch and locked her liquid brown eyes with mine for a moment before turning and dashing away into the woods with a flick of her white-tail. Besides that graceful guest, I saw no other living things before reaching the location of my mother's grave beneath the ancient chestnut tree. There were undoubtedly hundreds if not thousands of birds and small creatures holed up around me, waiting out the cold season. The protections around the property existed to repel witches and wizards alone. Muggles were steered away by targeted charms long before they could encounter the invisible magical barrier. However, other living things were able to traverse the enormous web of spells, that covered the entire estate like an overturned glass bowl, for aesthetic, humane, and practical reasons. Most people enjoyed watching the flight and hearing the sounds of birds on their property, my family being no exception. It would also be cruel to construct a barrier that would repel unsuspecting animals and most likely kill them upon impact. For practical reasons, a steady flow of living things was necessary for the land's survival. Flowers needed bees to pollenate, the soil needed worms to enrich it, and animals all the way up the food chain were needed to keep nature's balance in check. As I already said, no magic in the world could ever hope to circumvent the natural order of the earth.

My mother's grave looked much as it had over the summer when I'd visited it with Avrille and Char before our trip to the beach, though, of course, more gloomy and desolate. The meagre daylight was fading rapidly, leaving the area beneath the bare, thick chestnut branches in even deeper shadow. The white marble headstone was the only thing that reflected any of my wand's light, the rest of it being absorbed by the dark litter of dead sticks and leaves. I made cleaning the headstone my first priority. Steaming water, pulled from deep freshwater wells far beneath my feet then heated and propelled through my wand, washed away the dirt and moss griming up the face of the marker until nothing but gleaming stone remained. I read the inscription with sadness before dropping to my knees, away from the pooling runoff, and set to work ripping weeds from the mostly frozen ground, softened somewhat by directed heat from my wand into the earth.

I worked surrounded by silence, the only noise the rustle of dead things passing through my gloved fingers before being tossed onto a growing pile beside me. I wanted the grave to be beautiful in the spring, even though most likely no one would see it. I was glad I had put the effort in several years ago, so that when Avrille had visited it, chasing the hints my mother had passed to her in her vision, it had been welcoming and peaceful with its ring of, unintentionally fitting, yellow asphodels. The silence allowed the inscription on the headstone to murmur through my mind in a continuous loop.

_Most Beloved of Mothers. Most Beloved of Mothers. Most Beloved …_

I had chosen the inscription myself, and I had meant it. Before I met Avrille, I didn't think it was possible to love any woman more than I had loved my mother. Like most young men, I had indulged in a few flings in graduate school. Being in the Mediterranean with its inherent atmosphere of passion and away from any parental guidance, it had been rather unavoidable. But there was no denying they were merely dalliances. For my part, they were motivated by a need to distract myself temporarily from the intense pressures of school. For the two women I had been involved with at one point or another, they had both desired a change from the boredom they felt towards the wizards they had grown up with in Rome. Neither casual relationship lasted longer than a few months nor cultivated anything resembling emotional attachment. I do not take pride in the fact I gave myself completely to women who viewed me primarily as an intelligent, foreign diversion, but I am not ashamed of it either. Not having truly invested myself in a relationship before Avrille made it seem as though she was my first, as I had been for her.

I knew it had been my mother's dearest wish for me to marry for love, for true love, not the infatuation she had believed was love when she accepted my father's proposal. It took me countless years to finally forgive her settling for less than what I believed she deserved, even though I had been born because of it. It was only after I had lived for a long period all alone that I could appreciate how vulnerable she had been back then, orphaned virtually the moment she graduated Hogwarts and susceptible to the advances of an older man who appeared to love her in return, but in the end only desired her fortune.

As a rule, I do not dwell on the past. I especially did not like to remember anything having to do with this place, but blocking out thoughts of my mother as I knelt above her remains proved impossible. Unbidden a memory, nearly photographic in its clarity, swept me away. It carried me over fifteen years into the past, to a mid-May afternoon almost different in every imaginable way from the evening I was currently living. Both of my parents were still alive. My mother had written me, asking me to come visit her at Greyadder House. She was careful to drop mention in her letter that my father would be unable to join us, being busy with work in town. She knew that the reason I had yet to visit her, even though I'd been back in England for a few months after my graduation from the Academia Veneficiorum, was because I did not want to see him. Since it was nearly my mother's birthday, and I was feeling guilty about not having seen her yet—my current accommodations being unsuitable for guests—I agreed to drop by the place I'd long since stopped calling home.

The grass of the estate's rolling hills had been lush and even back then, my mother sacrificing other luxuries to ensure there was room in her budget for a groundskeeper at all times. Now having to care for the property completely on my own, I appreciated the work that position had entailed. Delicate blossoms of white and pink clung stubbornly to branches nearly black from a recent downpour. The bright, warm sunshine seemed incongruous with the late frost from a few weeks ago that had nearly decimated the hopeful spring emergences. An unfamiliar butler let me in without question before I even had a chance to knock. My mother must have told him to expect me. I was not surprised that I recognised nearly no one I saw that day. My parents' stormy marriage did not create an ideal work environment, and staff turnover at Greyadder House was high. The new man took my cloak and politely directed me to the library at the end of the ground floor's west wing. Most of the rooms I passed on the way were even emptier than I'd remembered. It appeared my parents were only maintaining the few rooms they used on a regular basis.

When I entered the library, I had only a moment to take in the familiar surroundings, but a moment was enough. I did not have many happy associations with the estate, but the library was an exception. I spent nearly as much time in there as my bedroom, relishing its removed location away from the bustle of the rest of the house. It also helped that my father never went in there. The mustiness of old pipe-smoke, a ghostly remnant of the days when my grandparents had hosted lavish parties, filled my nose along with the comforting scent of dry parchment and oiled leather. Thick streaks of sunshine fought valiantly through towering windows dusted with winter cobwebs and soot. Despite the warmth outside and the natural light, a merry fire crackled in the fieldstone hearth.

My mother must have heard the butler let me in, for she was at my side the instant I stepped over the threshold. The last time I had seen her was nearly three years ago, right before I left for Italy. She had never visited me there, my father no doubt thinking it would be a pointless expense, and I had never come home to England during the holidays. It was true that the intense burden of my courses devoured most of my time, and any free moments were spent sequestered in my dormitory, drafting articles to submit to periodicals, but if I had wanted to make time to Apparate home for an afternoon visit, I certainly could have. I just felt no inclination. It's not that I didn't miss my mother. I wrote to her several times a week the entire time I was in Rome. It was more that I had simply grown used to not seeing her after living at Hogwarts for seven years, and the thought of accidentally seeing my father was enough of a deterrent to a home-visit.

My mother was still stunningly beautiful, but her beauty now seemed more chiselled and austere than blossoming freshly from vivacious youth, as my earliest memories of her recalled. I remember being enamoured and fiercely proud of both my parents' physical attractiveness and seeming importance in society as a small boy, though that period was incredibly short-lived; about as short-lived as the novelty of having a son and heir was for my father. Before I could read, which was significantly sooner than most children my age, I had already grown fearful of him and his unpredictable rages. He sensed both my growing wariness of him and the intense bond I shared with my mother, and this increased his resentment of both of us. Around the time I reached my fifth birthday, I was well aware of the fact I was no longer worth my father's time or attention. While my mother's beauty and apparent virtues only grew in my eyes, my affection for my father quickly shrivelled and died. Eventually it was replaced by anger and disdain. It took me a very long time to overcome the resulting feelings of self-loathing, having inherited so many of my father's features that I was practically him in miniature.

I wasn't sure if my mother had simply aged a great deal since our last meeting, or if living in the vibrant, cosmopolitan ambience of Rome had altered my own perceptions of my comparatively dreary homeland. I felt I had truly left England a boy and returned a man, though now looking back, I am forced to laugh at my own inflated sense of maturity at that age. The events of that first year back in England _did_ cause me to grow a great deal, but that change had not begun to take shape as I stood before my mother, barely three months out of graduate school. But though I had not changed myself as much as I soon would, my mother was markedly different from my memories.

The fairness of her hair helped to conceal the most obvious sign of her aging, but the bright sunlight reflecting off of her curling strands proved it would not be long before the silver outnumbered the gold. Far more creases lined her face than I could recall noting before. It pained me to see the most severe lay between her brows instead of around her eyes, which a life of laughter would have left behind. Even as she smiled at me now, the sharp trench of worry did not smooth away. Her billowing silk robes made it difficult to ascertain, but I had the suspicion she'd lost weight she could not afford. Her cheek felt hollow and paper-thin as I kissed her dutifully.

Not allowing me to get away with only that polite gesture after years apart, she enveloped me in her arms, squeezing me tightly. The top of her head barely came up to my chin now. I gave her an awkward hug in return. Being only twenty-one, I was at the age where I thought myself too old for such displays of physical affection, not yet having reached the age where I would give anything to hold my mother one last time. The quick embrace proved she was as frail beneath her robes as the thinness of her face suggested. My hands easily discerned several ribs and a line of vertebrae as they held her. The familiar, choking weight of filial guilt draped itself over me. I should have visited while I was in school. It should not have taken me months to see her once I was finally home.

Mother finally released me and took a step back to view me better while still holding on to my arms with her birdlike hands.

"You look well!" she proclaimed joyously. "The Mediterranean sun agreed with you. I'm glad to see you didn't entomb yourself, studying the entire time." She placed a cool palm on one of my still slightly tanned cheeks.

"I had a few weeks free after I presented my thesis," I said with a smile. "I tried to enjoy the weather while I could. I wasn't gone long enough to forget how lovely our British summers are." This, of course, with sarcasm. Though it was mid-May and sunny, the air outside was chilly and damp. I'd had to dig out my wool cloak for the journey here, the one I only wore for a matter of weeks in Rome around Christmas.

"Happy Birthday," I said and conjured the gift I'd prepared for her. She accepted the tissue-wrapped package with a radiant smile and ran a hand over the satin ribbon I'd tied around it.

"Oh, Severus, you didn't need to," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I did. And I apologise my letters and gifts weren't as forthcoming lately. I hope this will partially explain it." I stood back a little to allow her room to open it. I glanced around at the familiar, dusty space wistfully while she carefully tore the tissue away. Her gasp of surprised delight brought my attention back. In her hands lay a leather-bound copy of my first completed work, _Reconstructing Medieval Poisons and Antidotes_.

"Severus, this is astounding!" she said, running her thumb over my name at the bottom of the front cover. "I had no idea you were being published! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," I replied, her infectious joy and pride in me melting away a little of the resentment being in the house again had dragged to the surface. "It's mostly just my Black Arts Thesis expounded. When it received full marks, several of the _magestri_ pushed me to send it out to some publishing houses here."

"But you're so young to be published already! Not that I'm at all surprised. I've always known you were brilliant ever since you were a baby. But this is still such an achievement!"

"I suppose," I said with an uncomfortable grin. I always had a difficult time accepting praise, even from my mother. I felt like no matter what I accomplished, there was always so much room for improvement. However, I couldn't deny I was very proud of my work at the Academia. I didn't want to sound like an egotistical prat by announcing it, but the editor who accepted my manuscript had at first refused to believe a twenty-one-year-old had authored the work until she met and interviewed me in person.

Mother opened the book. When she saw on the front page that I had dedicated it to her, in Latin, her green eyes filled with tears.

"This is just so wonderful. I'm so proud of you, Severus. I'll show it to your father when he returns home. I know he'll be proud of you too." It seemed unnecessarily rude to argue that point with her, so I settled for a non-committal noise in reply. I didn't think it would escape Father's notice that I hadn't bothered to include him in my dedication.

Mother took a moment to compose herself, running her hands over the smooth green leather and gold embossment several times. Then after embracing me one more time, she lead us over to my favourite leather chairs by the fire so we could sit, placing my book on a table right beside her so it wouldn't be out of view. She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet up beneath her sky-blue robes on the wide seat cushion. She seemed extra small curled up like that, almost childlike.

We simply sat for a moment, Mother staring at me as though drinking up every detail of my appearance. I stared at my clasped hands to avoid her heavy gaze. I disliked how clean my hands were, in a strange way. I couldn't remember a time when they weren't covered with ink smudges or smeared with potions ingredients. Unemployment was not agreeing with me.

Perhaps knowing my mind through maternal instinct, Mother commented lightly, "You never told me how your interview with Professor Dumbledore went."

Resentment and anger flared up my thoat, though I purposefully kept my voice neutral when I replied, "I did not get the job."

Mother's face fell slightly, though it was likely she had expected that answer. She must have known I would've written to her immediately to tell her the good news had everything gone well. As it was, it had gone the complete opposite of well. I hadn't even been allowed to speak to Dumbledore before his aberrant brother practically threw me bodily from the premises of his pub. The ignominy was rendered even more complete when I received a civil yet quelling letter from Dumbledore several days later informing me that I was not a good fit for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at the present time. He ended with a polite, though I'm sure insincere, invitation to reapply at a later date if another position at the school became available. The old man's blatant disregard for my superlative qualifications infuriated me and made reporting to the Dark Lord what I had unintentionally overheard that much more satisfying. Who was _he_ to say I wasn't the right candidate for the class? The people he _was_ hiring were obviously not up to task since no one appeared disciplined or dedicated enough to weather out more than a single year teaching the subject at a time.

But still … still, bearing the insult had been worth it. I flexed the fingers of my left hand, knowing the fresh Dark Mark beneath my sleeve also stretched with the movement. It had been worth it. Who needed the approval of an old teacher, anyway? I had graduated first in my class from the most demanding graduate program in the entire world. I had proven myself worthy to the Dark Lord after serving him for a matter of weeks. Though I had failed in his mission to secure a job for myself at the school, he had been more than pleased with those few sentences of apparent prophecy I'd passed on. _He_ knew my true value. If the academic establishment here wouldn't have me yet, I'd continue to pave the way for myself with private research and publishing. Perhaps when the Dark Lord won his war I would find myself teaching after all.

"Severus, are you alright?" My mother's concerned voice alerted me to the fact I'd been staring angrily into the fire for several minutes without uttering a word. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter, trying to put a pleasant expression back on my face.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Have you had any success in finding other employment? I could ask your father …"

"—I don't need any help from him, thank you," I interjected brusquely "I have friends who are assisting me in my search." I tugged on my shirt cuffs slightly to straighten them. I saw Mother's eyes linger on my left arm and her mouth curve downwards into a slight frown. I didn't know if it was a coincidence or not. Barely anyone outside of the Dark Lord's service knew about the Dark Mark, otherwise the Ministry would have imprisoned all the Death Eaters long ago by simply asking every witch or wizard in the country to pull up their sleeves. But though my father did not have the Mark, many of his acquaintance did, so it was possible my mother knew what it was. I was fiercely proud of my recent ascension to trusted Death Eater, at least that's what I told myself at the time. I tried to ignore how the thought of my mother's disapproval of my choice made me burn inside with secret shame.

"Besides, I've started receiving royalties from the book," I added, crossing my arms self-consciously. "It's doing better than expected with me being an unheard of and untested author. I also still have savings from consulting work I did in Rome. I'm fine for the time being." At least this was true. Granted, if I didn't find some sort of job this year I could be in trouble, but I didn't think the Dark Lord would allow me to starve. I was already proving myself to be very valuable to him.

"Well, I'm relieved to hear that," Mother said. I noticed the fingers of her right hand relaxed back onto her lap. For the past few minutes, she'd been winding a tendril of wheat-coloured hair between them, an unconscious gesture of hers I well-remembered from whenever she was worried or anxious in the past. The lock of released hair sprung back to gently caress the porcelain skin of her temple.

"I've had a letter from Lily recently." Mother seemed desirous of changing the subject. However, I was more comfortable discussing my newest friends in necessarily vague terms than hearing about this former one. No, not former. At least, not on my part. I still counted Lily as a friend, though I know I gave her no reason in the past few years to reciprocate the feelings.

"How is she?" I asked lightly.

"Well, I think you knew she got married."

I swallowed a sigh of annoyance. Unfortunately, I was very aware that Lily had married that idiot Potter after all. Lily had shown much more grace and forgiveness than I deserved over that sore matter between us. The last time I'd seen her, on our graduation day from Hogwarts, I'd told her cruelly not to bother inviting me to the wedding if she went through with it. She'd risen above my pettiness by sending me an ivory and gold-leaf invitation anyway. I wasn't ready yet to put aside my hatred of Potter and start helping pick up the pieces of our shattered friendship. I ignored the proffered olive branch and hadn't communicated with her in person or writing since. However, I did know she was still in contact with my mother occasionally. Lily was the only friend of mine I had ever allowed to visit my home, though only when my father, the ardent Mudblood hater, was away. I think Lily and I were both depending on my mother in secret to pass news of each other back and forth. Neither of us wanted to abandon the other completely, but I was still too stubborn to yield and admit wrongdoing.

"I knew," I said simply. "Where is she working?"

"I don't believe she is," Mother replied. "She's pregnant."

This time I couldn't stop myself from scoffing. Mother raised an eyebrow at me. "It's an utter waste," I explained sharply at her puzzled expression. This made her frown at me again.

"Well, it is!" I insisted. "Lily could have gone to any graduate school in the entire world. I know several of the most exclusive offered her full scholarships, like the one the Academia gave me. It's a shameful waste of her intelligence and powers to have a baby so young. She'll never accomplish anything now."

Mother's face hardened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't consider it a waste of my powers or a lack of accomplishment when I had you at the same age," she said coolly.

"Mother, you know that's not what I meant. Expectations were different for witches back then, especially for someone in societal position. But Lily had no such pressure to marry and produce a pure-blood heir like you. There's simply no good reason to have a child so young nowadays. She's probably just diving into this impetuously because …" I clenched my jaw to stop myself, then relaxed it so I wouldn't end up grinding my teeth in annoyance. Mother and I both knew poor Lily was on the wrong side of the way the tide was flowing. It was one of the main reasons I hadn't been in contact with her. It was not because I thought less of her for being Muggle-born. Instead, like with my mother, I knew Lily would not approve of the choices I had made recently.

I think Mother could tell how genuinely upset and disappointed I was about this new development. What she didn't know about was the tiny drop of apprehension her news had instilled in me. But … no. There was no way the two things were related. The odds of it were infinitesimal.

"Why don't you write to Lily and make plans to meet for an afternoon? She might not have time once her baby's here," she said placatingly, releasing the firm set of her arms so her hands rested delicately on her silk lap in a pool of lace from her cuffs.

I tightened the fold of my arms instead, sank into my chair, and said gruffly to the fire, "She won't want to see me."

"You don't know that. Motherhood changes a woman. She often asks how you're doing. I truly do not believe she's still angry with you."

I studied several items on the mantelpiece: an old, ebony carriage clock that constantly needed fine tuning to run correctly; the carved, lidded box housing Floo powder; a chipped porcelain shepherdess. Things too worthless for my father to sell for drink money or, in the case of the beautiful Japanese vase near the clock, holding a bunch of crumbling, dried flowers within its basin of painted birds and bamboo leaves, things he thought wrongly were worthless.

"I'll write to her," I finally said, grudgingly.

Mother nodded, her lips a pursed bow in stifled amusement at my obstinacy. She often said I had inherited that from my grandfather along with his wand.

"Just make sure you hurry. She's due sometime at the end of July. They're having a boy."

"I will." The droplet of apprehension froze into a sharp icicle of true fear in my stomach. Still … there had to be dozens of witches having a baby boy around that time. Lily knew better than to openly defy the Dark Lord. Didn't she? But that Potter … I didn't trust him not to draw unneeded attention to himself since he had always basked in doing so at school. Self-righteously declaring his opposition to the Dark Lord seemed like something he would do. I didn't even know what he and that arsehole Black had done with themselves after Hogwarts. Perhaps I should make some casual inquires. Not that I _really_ needed to. Obviously there was no connection between Lily and that little thing I'd overheard in the Hogs Head. But still …

Seeing me eyeing the vase thoughtfully, Mother commented, "You can take that with you, if you wish. I'm sure your grandfather would have wanted you to have it. It's just collecting dust here. As well as the books. I rarely read them anymore. You should take any that interest you."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair then faced her again.

"I really don't have the room for it in my flat." I was currently sharing a miniscule two-room space above a shop in Diagon Alley with my former fellow Slytherin friend, Rufus Carrington, who I'd fallen back in touch with when I returned from Italy. He was the one who introduced me to the Death Eaters, and through them the Dark Lord, at my request after he told me in boastful tones about the great work he was doing for them.

Mother began twisting the curl of hair around her finger again.

"You know, Severus … You could come back and live here."

"No, I couldn't," I said, dangerously quiet. Still her finger wrapped itself around her golden hair flecked with silver, over and over and over.

"Darling, I know you have your pride and want to be self-sufficient, but there's nothing wrong with letting family help you, just until you've established yourself. You could just come back and stay with us for a little while until—"

"—No!" I yelled. Mother started in surprise. Nausea flooded me when I noted the slight recoil in her startled movement, but I was too furious, too exhausted from trying to pretend I was comfortable even just sitting in this house for a half hour to stop myself from continuing fiercely, "I can't come back! Don't you understand that?! Not while _he's_ still here. I don't care if I have to live on the street. I _won't_ live with him again!"

I had a split second view of my mother's shocked face, her jade eyes opened wide and glistening, a line of fragile fingertips pressed against her lips, before I dropped my head into my hands in shame. I raked my fingers through my hair, the tips just starting to grow past my jaw after having chopped it off when I arrived in Rome as an experiment to see if it made me look less like my father (it didn't and required too much maintenance short). I rested my burning forehead on tensed fingers and allowed my hair to fall forward so I wouldn't risk seeing any more pain on my mother's face. My shame was two-fold. Most of it was from lashing out unjustifiably at my mother when she had only been trying to help, and also from losing my temper when I had considered myself trained enough by now to reign in such childish outbursts.

The part of the shame I didn't want to acknowledge stemmed from how incredibly, blindingly angry I was with her. Yes, she wanted to help, but her suggestion just seemed to show how little she understood anything at all. How could she expect me to return willingly to that prison I'd gratefully fled and submit myself once more to the choleric whims of the jailor within, who ruled with an iron fist? Didn't she know that if I came back here to live, I'd most likely kill him the next time he put his hands on her? Did she want me to end up in Azkaban because she lacked the will to leave and save herself like I had?

Soft fingers interlaced with mine and pulled my hands gently down away from my face. Mother let go of one of my hands, which I let lie limply on my lap, so she could brush back a section of my hair to see my face. I kept my eyes averted to the worn carpet beside where she knelt in front of me.

"I'm so sorry, Severus."

"Sorry for what?" I asked coldly. Trying to marshal my anger, I had fallen into disappointed resignation instead. Her subservient position in front of me merely irritated me, and her apology reminded me of the hundreds of others she'd offered over the years to smooth things over after my father beat me yet again.

"For everything. For not being stronger. I'm sorry that you feel I chose your father over you because that couldn't be further from the truth. You are the most important thing in the world to me, and I should have taken better care of you."

Expecting to hear the usual excuses for my father's abuse, her admittance of her own mistakes surprised me so much that I lay down my stubbornness and looked her in the face finally. I was amazed to see her eyes were dry, though they were swimming with regret and pain instead of tears. She grasped my right hand in both of hers, bringing it to her lips then holding it out near her heart.

"You have every right to hate me."

"I don't hate you!" I exclaimed, hurt that she would even suggest such a thing.

"I know," she smiled, refreshing her sad pallor for a brief moment before continuing with solemnity, "and I consider myself incredibly lucky that you don't. You should hate me. I knew how your father treated you. I tried to tell myself that it was only me that he hurt because I couldn't bear the idea that you were suffering as well. Later I couldn't deny it, but by then you were already gone at school most of the year. However, I knew too much damage had already been done.

"I truly thought the best thing for you was to be with your mother, with me, because I knew how fiercely I loved you, and I couldn't even think of how I'd survive apart from you. But that type of love wasn't enough. I should have been stronger. Since I was bound to your father, I should have loved you enough to send you away. I should have put your own protection above my selfish wish to hold you and talk to you every day. I should have sent you somewhere safe. For my failure, I am so, so very sorry."

Tears did well in her eyes now, a single one breaking free to run down her ivory cheek before dropping onto the bodice of her robes, darkening a spot of pale blue into a deep sapphire. I didn't know what to say in return. She had never spoken so plainly before. She must have sensed my confusion and awkwardness, for she squeezed my hand one more time before releasing me and returning to her own chair.

I gazed upon her fair features as she studied my own dark ones, so different from her in almost every way. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't too late, that she could still leave him and try to live happily somewhere. It wouldn't be too long until I was more financially secure, and I could support her. Mostly I just wanted her to know that I forgave whatever mistakes she had made in the past. But I simply couldn't make myself utter a single word.

So I said nothing.

To break the silence, Mother took more upon herself instead.

With the carriage clock chiming the wrong hour delicately in the background, Mother said with quiet determination, "Next time I won't be so weak, Severus. No matter what happens, next time you're in danger, _nothing_ will stop me from protecting you."

Hunched over on the hard, cold earth of the grave, I growled from both frustration and pain as the Dark Mark on my arm burned suddenly. Being pulled back to the present in such a jarring fashion left me short of breath for a moment. I pressed my gloved knuckles into the nearly frozen earth and struggled to collect my thoughts. Just being in this place was enough to unsettle me under normal circumstances. Dwelling on such a particularly painful memory and having it interrupted by the Dark Lord's brutal summons hurt even more than the resulting fire in my arm.

That was the last true conversation I had held with my mother before her death six months later. I had seen her a few times after that day, but we never touched on anything that emotional ever again. I didn't have a chance to both forgive her and apologise for my own failings until I sat beside her dying, unconscious form. I like to pretend that she heard me, but I expect she was too far gone at that point. I also never followed her advice to meet with Lily and make amends in person. That remains one of the greatest regrets of my life.

The pain in my left arm subsided to a dull, aching throb. It hadn't been quite the searing sting experienced the night of the Triwizard Tournament, but it was very close to it.

Whatever the Dark Lord wanted me for, he wanted me _now_.

Author's Note:_ I'm very proud of myself for the pace I've been able to maintain writing and posting chapters this month. I hope you're enjoying them! As you might have guessed, there's some definite danger and drama ahead. I'm looking forward to writing Avrille's next couple chapters in particular (though that's not to say Severus doesn't have some interesting stuff going on as well).___

_If you can spare a second, please leave a review :) I love reviews more than chocolate, and that's not a comparison to make light of. Thanks for reading! ~Renny_


	15. Chapter Fifteen: AVRILLE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

_Avrille_

A step and a twist away from the congested, noisy London street brought me to a country lane so silent, it was positively eerie. This corner of Somerset county seemed to be experiencing mild weather lately, a definite boon since I'd been trying to imagine how I'd go about exploring this place with a foot of snow on the ground like at Hogwarts. In fact there was no snow here at all, simply soggy brown earth and trees darkened with damp as though it had rained earlier in the day. The sky above me was overcast in a dirty grey like the gutter slush outside Grimmauld Place. It was cold out, but not bitterly freezing. I tucked my hat into a pocket of my fur-lined coat so I wouldn't get too hot. An intermittent breeze sent tendrils of my auburn hair, wily escapees from the bun I'd thrown them into, to play along the side of my face.

I took a moment to get my bearings. I was standing outside an imposing brick wall that seemed to stretch as far as I could see to both my left and right. The only break in the wall appeared to be the set of rusty gates before me. The name "Wren Hill Asylum," wrought out of the same oxidised iron and running along the gate's top arch, proclaimed the institution's origins. However, a sun-bleached sign fixed to the wall directly beside the gate gave an updated designation of "Wren Hill State Hospital."

Professor Dumbledore's directions had been very specific, and he'd even provided a small map for me, which I now pulled out of my pocket. Aside from locational guidance, his other instructions weren't nearly as precise. He said that should I successfully bypass the spell You-Know-Who had constructed, I would most likely find a small object, probably something that looked old and valuable. However, he stressed that under no circumstances was I to meddle with it or attempt to discover any hidden properties of this object. I was to simply retrieve it and bring it back to Hogwarts immediately for him to deal with. A few days before I'd left, he'd also vehemently reinforced the need to keep all of this secret from Severus. While bringing back some mysterious trinket from the middle of nowhere had no relevance to me and probably little to Severus, Professor Dumbledore ensured me that Voldemort finding out about my little scavenger hunt through Severus's mind would mean certain death to both of us.

The silhouette of a bird with outstretched wings, formed from a masterful manipulation of the iron bars, ornamented the gate beneath the original name, though too small and too high to provide access to or escape from the facility. There didn't appear to be anyone in the area at all. Professor Dumbledore had warned me the grounds were still patrolled occasionally by a Muggle security detail and had cast several Muggle-repelling charms on the map he'd given me to help with that potential problem. I wasn't super worried about it. It was unlikely the guards were paid enough to care if this already falling to pieces place was protected twenty-four seven. In any case, I didn't see or hear the signs of anybody but myself.

The gates were locked with several thick chains to deter vandals. They fell away easily and were reattached more securely than before with a few waves of my wand. The bird on the gate might have been an attempt to give the entrance a sort of Victorian quaintness, but I found it disturbing. It appeared to be locked in a cage when the gates stood closed but then severed in two when opened. I left the gates behind and started walking up a long, overgrown driveway to the enormous brick edifice of the asylum far in the distance ahead of me. Thick willow trees flanked the drive for its entire length, their empty branches dangling limply like dead vines. Gnarled, ancient roots had pushed through many patches of the blacktop, splitting it open in a series of wounds. I kicked several chunks of asphalt out of my way as I passed.

After several minutes of brisk walking, and constant checking around me for any movement besides the swaying of branches, I came to the end of the tree line and was able to see the entirety of the immense structure. I pulled out Professor Dumbledore's map once more, which was simply an old Muggle map of the hospital and grounds that he'd charmed to guide me to my eventual destination. The place I was ultimately headed for shone as a gentle red glow on the almost complete opposite end of the property, about a quarter mile into the woods behind the far side of the encompassing wall. Never having visited this place before, I hadn't been able to guide my Apparation to that exact spot. I could in theory Apparate closer there now, but I had a couple reasons for not doing so.

First off, I really had no clue what I would be dealing with when I got there. Professor Dumbledore had been intentionally vague with his description of the location, believing it would be better for me to experience the Dark Lord's spells firsthand without his own personal impressions influencing me. So I didn't want to try and Apparate closer when I didn't know where exactly the normal Muggle land ended and the Dark Lord's twisting of the space began. I still keenly remembered the physical and magical pain I'd experienced a few years ago when I'd tried to Apparate to Greyadder House when searching for Severus and had encountered his wards on the property that expelled me back to Hogwarts. I assumed something far worse and damaging would happen if the same sort of thing occurred this time. More than anything, I knew I needed to arrive on location in top physical and magical condition.

But more importantly, I also felt the strange need to actually walk through this place and experience it firsthand. Professor Dumbledore had said it was entirely possible this location had been chosen by You-Know-Who at random, but his professional opinion held this to be unlikely. After all, when You-Know-Who had set up his original spells here, the hospital was still completely functional and housing thousands of patients and staff. If he'd wanted an out of the way location to hide something valuable to him, there had to be many more suitable places. No, it was most likely he'd felt some sort of connection to this place himself and had used it either because of personal significance or as a subtle, psychological warning to any magic user who might inadvertently stumble upon it.

A fierce wind whipped along the curved brick walls of the empty rotunda. I pulled the hood of my coat up to block some of it, keeping my wand out and my eyes peeled. Any regular witch or wizard would certainly think twice about wandering around here aimlessly. Places such as this that had been the site of countless years of human suffering were usually avoided from both superstition and simple safety reasons. As a method of dealing with my own trauma following Severus's imprisonment in his father's tomb, I'd quietly researched Revenants on my own. The more I read in the library, the more I came to realize how insanely lucky Severus and I had been to escape that ordeal alive. This research came to mind now because I'd learned that besides obvious locations of horror like the concentration camps of eastern Europe and the killing fields of Cambodia, more common places of suffering like mental hospitals and prisons could often give birth to a Revenant. All it took was one witch or wizard to die there and come back as a ghost, unable to find peace and feeding off of the evil around them, to become warped into a deadly Revenant.

For the record, I highly doubted I would end up facing another Revenant today. A casual casting out of my magic around me had triggered no red flags of a sinister presence in the area, besides a slight prickling in the direction of the woods where I expected there to be something. But it also didn't hurt to be cautious. You-Know-Who had employed many Dark creatures in the past to do his bidding.

The brick building in front of me appeared to be the dominant structure of the property. All of the windows on the ground floor were boarded over from the inside, though the those of the two floors above were mainly intact. Here or there a dark spot that didn't reflect the greyish light of the cloudy late-afternoon showed where some teenager had most likely chucked a rock out of malicious boredom. The double front doors were locked as expected, but I easily passed through them like the outer gates. It was almost impossible to see anything inside. I increased the brightness of my wand, confident it wouldn't show due to the boards.

I appeared to have entered the administration building. A reception window with frosted sliding glass gaped half-open in the wall to my right next to an ajar door leading into the office. I could see stacks of old newspapers piled against the sides of desks and numerous pages of yellow notepaper scattered across the floor. The linoleum was peeling up and away from the rotting boards underneath in thin strips. A black, old-fashioned rotary phone half hung from the side of the reception window, dull red and green wiring exposed like guts in the split base. The spiral cord hung nearly to the floor of the entryway, but the receiver had been neatly clipped off and was missing.

On all four sides, there were sets of brown double doors. The ones to my left and the set next to the reception office had tarnished metal keypads for entering a numerical code. I assumed these led to the general wards and more offices. The doors in front of me held the only intact exterior glass I could see. A set of paned windows from waist to head height showed a large courtyard beyond them. The courtyard appeared to be a shortcut across the grounds and in the direction I needed to head anyway, so I pushed on a bar under the glass, and the doors squeakily admitted me back outside.

I crossed the courtyard quickly, the only sounds the crunching of gravel under my boots and the scratchy cawing of two crows perched on the edge of a chimney. I knew the hospital was completely deserted, but I couldn't stop myself from glancing around at the windows that surrounded me like accusatory eyes. Several times I thought I caught a flash of movement from an upper storey, but instead of seeing a pale hand or wasted face pressed against the glass, it was always something simple like the reflection of a birch tree limb's white bark.

It being the day after the winter solstice, the sun was already very low on the horizon, though I couldn't see it behind the wall of clouds. Sunset had to be less than an hour away. I picked up my pace. I didn't know how long this was going to take, and I would definitely prefer it if I wasn't in pitch black when trying to circumvent an insanely dangerous spell of You-Know-Who's. Across the courtyard at last, I passed under a brick archway to emerge on an internal road that snaked through the hodgepodge of scattered outbuildings. I froze in place at the sight of a yellow construction vehicle parked by the side of the road several yards down. It appeared similarly abandoned, perhaps a forgotten remnant of a time when the government was trying to re-appropriate the "quaint" old buildings as flats or something. Scurrying across the road and dipping behind a large hawthorn bush, I was soon out of sight again.

As I moved further north, I occasionally checked-in with the map Professor Dumbledore had given me. Clipping along at a half-jog, I was quickly approaching the far end of the hospital's boundaries. The buildings now were few and far between and mainly seemed to be maintenance sheds. Finally I reached the all-encompassing brick wall again. A small section here had been knocked down. I climbed through the hole, trying not to scratch myself up too much on the rough mortar. Almost immediately I was submerged in wild forest. My brisk pace was soon hindered by brambles and thorny vines that snagged my coat and jeans like numerous skeletal hands trying to pull me back towards the asylum. I used my wand to free myself of the most prickly ones but tried to rely mainly on determination and careful manoeuvring to keep moving forward. Now that I was nearly at my destination, I didn't want to use a ton of magic in case there was something waiting for me that could detect it and attack accordingly.

After making good time through the main property, the trek through the woods was agonizingly slow. A distance of only a thousand feet took me over an hour to clear. The trees surrounding me were bare, but they had grown so close and so numerous that they still blocked out most of the fading daylight. I was forced to light my wand again when it grew too dark to see the area around my feet. Every couple minutes I referred to the map in my other hand. The little dot with my name on it appeared nearly on top of the small, red-glowing circle that indicated the circumference of You-Know-Who's enchantments. But squinting my eyes and shining a beam of wandlight in front of me illuminated nothing besides more dense woods.

Just when I was starting to wonder if Professor Dumbledore could've possibly mislabelled the map, I felt a change in the air. My progress now felt like it was being hindered by more than just overgrown vegetation. I was suddenly having to work much harder to push forward, to the point where I was actually a little out of breath. Steeling my will, I continued struggling through prickly creepers with my wand held out, now more for protection than just light. My heart quickened. Just ahead, I could see a patch of forest that looked less dense than what lay around me, possibly a clearing. I risked distracting myself for a second to glance down at the map. My little dot looked like it had crossed to the other side of the red line. Apparently I'd already breached the outermost spell. Could the mere fact that I was a woman have made it truly that simple?

Then, without warning, I was thrown backwards as though a silent, fireless bomb had detonated right in front of me. I only fell a few feet, for the thick trunk of an ash tree stopped my airborne flight when I collided with it. Mind-numbing pain spread up through my right arm as I crumpled to the ground on my stomach. The pain was so intense, I nearly retched onto the freezing, wet leaves beneath my cheek. But I fought to marshal my wits through the daze of agony, almost hearing Severus's stern voice commanding me to get up and protect myself. It took me several tries to push up onto my knees. My right arm could bear none of my weight, and my left seemed not much better. Fortunately my left arm itself, still clutching my wand tightly in its hand, appeared mostly uninjured. I was fairly sure my right was broken, possibly in several places, along with my collarbone. I couldn't see where my useless right hand had dropped the map. I figured it was unnecessary at this point anyway. Obviously I'd found the right place.

Sucking air through my teeth, I traced my wand down my right arm and up across my shoulder several times. I was nowhere near as proficient at healing spells as Severus, my magic being often more suitable for making large things explode, but I tried my best to recall the delicate spell required to knit the split bones back together. I breathed a deep sigh of exquisite relief when most of the pain dissipated after a moment. I tried out my arm, moving it in extremely slow, gentle circles. Everything seemed reconnected, but it was still incredibly stiff and tender. I knew I'd need to see Madam Pomfrey or Professor Dumbledore as soon as I got back to the school for it to be healed properly the rest of the way.

With the most debilitating trauma dealt with, I quickly felt myself over to take toll of any other damage. A sharp stinging on my scalp and a warm wetness trickling down the side of my face led me to believe there was a sizable gash there. I touched my hand to it, wincing when my fingers came in contact with my hair. Pulling my hand away, I saw my fingertips were stained bright red. Gently tracing the spot with my wand dispelled most of that pain too. I grabbed a wet oak leaf and wiped the side of my face with it, figuring it was stupid to waste time or magic cleaning up more thoroughly when I still had no clue what other injuries I might be in for.

Finally, I felt like I was as fixed-up as I was going to get for now. Night had fallen completely. I stood up carefully in case I felt dizzy. My balance didn't seem too bad, and my skull didn't hurt anywhere except for the spot with the scalp laceration, so hopefully a head injury had been avoided. I slowly turned so I would be facing the direction in which I'd encountered the violent expulsion charm. T soaked denim of my knees brushing against the skin underneath sent a shiver through me as I pivoted in place, not wanting to take a single step in that direction until I assessed the nature of the spell that had repelled me. Expecting to see only the impenetrable blackness of the forest in front of me, I nearly fell backwards again when my wandlight glanced over a figure standing only a dozen feet away.

It was a little boy, pale as the light that shone over him, and he was glaring at me murderously.

"Put it away!" he commanded, pointing a colourless finger at my wand.

I made to obey instantly, half from being certain his command had a punch of magic behind it, and half because even though he appeared only four- or five-years-old, I somehow knew I did _not _want to piss this kid off.

With my hands held out to the side so he could see them clearly, I moved my left one holding my wand slowly to tuck the instrument into the back waistband of my jeans. But before I put it completely away, I tapped the small of my back with it twice, once to cast a spell of general protection over me, the second time to erect the strongest Shielding Charm I knew as an invisible prism around my body. As I returned my now empty hand to its position of implied surrender, I drew power from the wood pressed into the small of my back to bulwark my mind with Occlumency.

The boy and I stood there facing each other for a moment in silence. I had left my wand aglow as I stashed it, so light poured from behind me like a full-body halo. My shadow stretched in front of me, the dark elongated shape of my head merging with the black ground my light couldn't reach, inches in front of the boy's feet. It didn't take the countless visual clues to tell me the little boy was dead.

Anyone, even a Muggle, could've guessed something wasn't right about him. The clothes he was wearing, a short-sleeved, button-down shirt in a plaid print paired with pressed chino pants, were old-fashioned enough for even me to know it and also completely unsuitable for this season. Kids today might think it's totally uncool to wear coats and hats in the winter, but you'd normally at least see them shivering a little from their stubbornness. This boy stood completely still as though he couldn't feel the cold at all. And when I say still, I mean _still_. His chest didn't rise or fall and no frozen air puffed from his nose like it did from mine. He wasn't breathing.

The way my shadow stopped before touching him proved another astounding factor. Since my upward shining light couldn't reach all the way to where he stood, he should have been cast in almost complete darkness. However, his entire body was illuminated like I still had my wand out and pointed at him. The boy himself was glowing. But perhaps the most unsettling thing about him was his pallor. He wasn't just pale. He was completely without colour, his skin along with his clothing. It was like someone had projected a black and white movie character into the middle of the woods. I would guess that he was some kind of ghost, his absolutely silent arrival in the midst of dense brush and his general aura of creepiness huge clues besides the other things already mentioned, except that I could see his oxford-shod feet were imprinting themselves in the dead leaves beneath them. A ghost should not be able to affect the physical world around it. He didn't look like a poltergeist. That left one, chilling option, the one that felt the most fitting given the way my skin had erupted in goosebumps the moment I'd set eyes on him.

Somehow, this figure of a little boy was a Revenant.

Of course, this still made no sense at all. A Revenant was an incredibly powerful, inarguably Dark creature. I had felt the sinister tinge of magic in Septimus Snape's tomb long before the monster imprisoning Severus there had revealed itself to me. But the magic flowing from this little boy, though it was unfriendly and unnerving, didn't have the same sense of evil entwined with it. The boy's appearance was also at odds with a Revenant classification. Those demons can only take the physical form of something they believe will terrify you, and only after extracting that image from your thoughts in a mental attack. I'd been physically assaulted a few minutes ago, but I was positive my mind hadn't been touched. There was no reason to think it had, looking at him anyway. A vision of Char would make sense for a Revenant to use against me, but this odd little boy, with his strangely mature eyes and evenly parted, dark hair, was someone I'd never seen before, not even in a photograph. A Revenant without relevant form should be a shapeless, black shadow. So who, or better yet _what_ was this child?

The hateful way the boy had stared at my wand eliminated the possibility of me using it to try and diagnose his aura with magic. I was certain if I tried any sort of magic with it, I'd find myself injured again, and probably in a much more serious way. I couldn't risk being incapacitated. It seemed likely the energy I'd sensed trying to keep me away from the clearing had been created by this apparition. When I'd forced myself closer, he'd stepped up his defences and physically pushed me away. The boy seemed to relax a small amount once my wand was out of sight, unclenching his greyish fists to let his small fingers press against the legs of his pants. Perhaps he felt rightly that I was now at a disadvantage and less of a threat. Since I had no other options, and I felt deep down this boy was not some weird spell of You-Know-Who's, at least not completely, I decided to try and talk to him.

"Hello," I said amiably, my arms still held out to the side and aching from the repaired breaks. "My name's Avrille. What's yours?"

The boy eyed me suspiciously and shifted his weight over from one foot to the other, snapping a twig beneath it. With the movement, he flickered ever so slightly, bringing to mind again the idea of a projection that had run over a scratch on the film.

"Who are you?!" he demanded. I didn't expect he'd speak his own name so freely, but I was hoping the fact I'd offered part of my own, placing me at even more of a magical disadvantage, would relax his guard a little. I tried to silence Severus's imaginary voice that had again risen in my mind, my vigilant husband demanding why I was offering such a dangerous weapon to this assumed enemy. I don't know. I just had the instinct it was the right thing to do.

"I just told you," I replied kindly, with a smile, "I'm Avrille. Is it ok if I put my hands down? My arm kind of hurts from that fall I had." I purposefully did not put the blame for my injury on him. Wording it this way, I saw a tiny flicker of guilt liven up his hollow eyes before they reverted to their emotionless stare. A flicker of satisfaction comforted me a little. He wasn't some trap manufactured by the Dark Lord. There was something decidedly human, and surprisingly innocent, about him.

He nodded his head once, so I allowed my arms to drop slowly to my sides. I silently took a few breaths of respite.

"You're not … with him?" he asked guardedly.

"With who?"

"With the old man. The old man with the beard." The boy's face twisted into a venomous glare again at the memory.

"No, I'm not with him," I lied. My gut told me it would be very stupid to tell the truth about my ties to Professor Dumbledore right now.

The boy's expression softened somewhat.

Just then a dash of silver in my peripheral vision made me whip my head unconsciously to the right, allowing me to see a misty panther bounding toward me effortlessly through the tangled forest.

Shit. Not now.

The boy turned at the light as well. His eyes widened in alarm, and he stumbled a few paces back as the Patronus took a final great leap to land silently beside me.

From its silver mouth, Severus's voice commanded clearly, "Don't leave the castle. I'm safe, but something is wrong. Do not reply."

A cry of fear and a flash of light tore my attention back to the mystery boy. He was still staring at the Patronus, but now it was over his shoulder as he was trying to run blindly away from it. A second flash resulting from a shower of neon-blue sparks came when he collided head-on with what appeared to be an invisible wall, possibly the same one that had repelled me. He screamed in pain and increased terror as he was buffeted over and over again from sizzling shocks like lightening as he tore around the circular perimeter separating him from me.

I desperately waved the Patronus away with my hands like the dispelling of a blown-out candle's smoke until it vanished completely in a puff of silver sparkles. I'd have to consider the cryptic warning later. Stupidly, but unable to stop myself from some primal, maternal urge, I dashed toward the barrier to get closer to the boy. In all rights I should've ended up blasted off of my feet again with more broken bones. Perhaps the boy himself had controlled that specific spell or maybe my Shielding Charm was just that good, because in my moment of unthinking instinct, my outstretched hands made contact without my whole body flying away. I had a split-second of feeling a woven spell-net that hummed beneath my skin like a thousand volts before my own nerves jerked my palms back like I had experienced one of those huge shocks you get from rubbing your feet on a carpet in the dry winter. It had been uncomfortable, but not torturous like it seemed to be for the boy each time a part of his little body made contact with the invisible wall.

His cries and screams of anguish brought tears to my eyes as I knelt outside the barrier, unable to get any closer.

"It's ok! It's ok, honey! It's gone! You can stop! It's gone!" I yelled, trying to be heard over his howls. I kept up my chant of, "It's ok, honey, it's ok," until he finally collapsed on the ground a few feet in front of me, curled up on his side and hugging his knees in a foetal position. I kept shushing and repeating my words of comfort until he was only emitting quiet whimpers.

"I'm so sorry," I said, once he seemed calm enough to process my words. "I'm so sorry that frightened you. I wasn't expecting that animal to come. I really didn't mean to scare you."

The boy clambered up so he was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Not having the need to breathe, he didn't produce shuddering hiccoughs like Char usually did after a fit, though I was stunned to see phantom tears running down his face. He wiped them away impatiently with the back of his bare arm, as if he was embarrassed to have been seen crying like a baby when he was obviously a big boy.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, in a whisper.

The boy locked eyes with me for a moment before asking, "Are you a mum?" His directness startled me.

"Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"Because you talked like one when I was scared. That's how I used to hear mummies talking to their babies when they cried."

"Didn't your mom ever talk to you like that?" I asked, sitting down on the ground as well so we were more at eye-level. The boy shook his head.

"No. I never knew my mummy, but I miss her anyway. I really, _really_ miss her."

The tears still in his voice broke my heart. A corner of my mind nagged at me, reminding me of Severus's Patronus. Something had happened he wasn't expecting, but he must still be away from Hogwarts. The message would've said, "Come back to the castle," if he knew I'd left. He couldn't been sure I wasn't out visiting Lavinia or something, so he'd sent the Patronus to find me directly instead of sending it to voice its message to our rooms in the dungeons. Worry for Severus distracted me partially from concern for this spirit boy. _Do not reply_ … that must mean he was going to be around people he didn't trust soon, like the Death Eaters.

But as much as it frightened me to disobey, I couldn't follow Severus's command and return to Hogwarts. I still had my mission to complete, and I didn't know when I'd have another chance like this. I also somehow knew that if I left, the tiny, fragile bit of trust I'd just established with this boy, the seemingly unwilling gatekeeper to the clearing beyond, would be shattered. If I couldn't win my way past him, I had no hope of retrieving whatever it was the Dark Lord had hidden here. Failing this mission could possibly mean Severus was never out of danger. Therefore, failure was not an option.

I closed my eyes, at peace with my decision. I didn't want Severus to be in any perilous situation tonight, but maybe it would distract him long enough to allow me to return home with Char without him being the wiser.

When I opened my eyes, I returned all my attention to the boy, still sitting a few feet away from me with his chin in his hands.

"Did your mommy die, sweetie?" I asked gently. He shook his head.

"No, at least, I don't know. My grandparents said she was sick and lived in hospital."

Sick in a hospital? What kind of sick? And what kind of hospital? Did she have a terminal or otherwise incurable illness, or was it possible she was a patient here, at the asylum in the past? Certainly a grandparent wouldn't try to explain to a five-year-old that his mother was mentally ill. "Sick" would be easier for him to understand. It's what I'd say in their position.

"So you live with your grandparents?" I asked, keeping things in the present tense. I had no idea if this child had any conscious awareness that he himself was dead.

"I used to," he said glumly, "before I got lost."

_Lost._ That made me shiver even more than the cold December wind. Actually, I was completely freezing. I wondered if our trust was strong enough to risk a charm to make me more comfortable and able to concentrate better.

"Sweetie, do you mind if I use my wand for a second? It's very chilly, and I'd like to warm myself up. I'll put it right away when I'm done."

The boy's face scrunched up in suspicion, and I cursed myself for suggesting it. I should've just sucked it up and stayed cold. But after a moment, he said tonelessly, "I don't like those things. I don't like those things at all. But … you're nice. If you promise you won't hurt me, you can use it. But only once!"

"I promise." His words disturbed me, that he needed me to promise not to hurt him. Was he thinking of how he had just been injured from the barrier, or was he referring to my wand specifically? I hadn't cast any spells against him, so did that mean someone in the past had?

Like I was an Auror reaching into my robes for my badge in front of a traumatized witness, I slowly and purposefully pulled my wand out from my waistband. I drew a Warming Charm around me, then instantly dropped my wand to the ground beside me and folded my hands on my lap. The tip was still alight and cast a yellow beam across the forest. Where it fell on the boy, he appeared paler instead of more illuminated and distinct. Most of it passed right through him, so he cast no shadow.

"Do you feel cold? Can I try to warm you too?" I asked lightly.

He shook his head and said sadly, "I don't feel cold. I don't feel anything. Except when I hit the wall. That hurts. I don't like the wall, and I don't like your wand, if that's what that is. Wands hurt too."

Well, that answered that question. Obviously this boy had been hurt by magic in the past. He was some sort of ghost, so he had to have been a wizard, even though he might've been too young to know it. Did he die from an accident or illness, or was he killed, possibly by magic? Was he hurt before or after he died, since it had been demonstrated so cruelly to me he could feel pain now? Was his whole family wizards? Probably not, since he didn't know what a wand was called. Was just his mother a witch, then? The one he'd never met, so he never knew about her wand? But if she was a witch, and she was a patient here at Wren Hill—the only seeming connection between this boy and his current location, his current _prison_—why would she be in an institution for Muggles instead of at St. Mungo's? I didn't feel like he trusted me quite enough yet to talk about something that personal, so I backed the conversation up a few steps.

"You said you got lost. Do you know how long you've been lost for?" I pulled my knees up to my chest and tried to enjoy the warmth blanketing me, though it was difficult knowing the boy couldn't feel warmth at all.

"I don't know. I don't remember. A long time. A _really_ long time."

"Do you remember if your grandparents had a television set?"

He nodded. So that put him somewhere in the past forty years or so, plus proved his grandparents were Muggles.

"They never let me watch it. It was too eck-pensive and I might break it, they said."

Hmm … Well, it didn't matter if he didn't know anything about TV. I obviously knew barely anything about it, being a witch, so I wouldn't be able to guess his date of birth from what was being shown then anyway. Time to move onto a new topic.

"You said an old man came here. What did he do?"

The little boy scowled, smushing his hands up into his cheeks so his face was even more scrunched up like a huge, white raisin. "I didn't like him. He looked like my grandfather, with a big beard. He had one of those wands, too. He tried to use it, but I didn't let him! I stopped him, like I stopped you!" His triumphant leer collapsed into sheepishness.

"But I didn't know _you_ were nice. I'm sorry I stopped you like that. I didn't like the old man, though. I'm not sorry I made him fall down because he wouldn't stop pushing to get in! It was mean not to stop! But then he went away, and he never even saw me. I let you see me because you looked like a nice mum, not like a mean old man, not like my grandfather."

"Don't worry," I reassured him, "I won't try to come in again if you don't want me to." I hoped this wouldn't end up a lie. I _had_ to get inside the barrier, but I wanted to do it with his cooperation. I wasn't so naïve that I hadn't considered this whole "sweet little boy" act might all be an evil ploy, but somehow I just knew it wasn't. This kid was a victim, and possibly had been for decades if his clothes were any indication.

"Are you able to come out of there, ever?" I asked.

"No. I'm stuck. I'm lost." He drew up his legs, a trail of leaves and twigs dragging beneath his semi-physical feet. But I noticed not a speck of dirt stuck to his pant legs, which should've been filthy from lying on the ground. Spiritual _an_d physical, yet unchangeable. He wrapped his arms around his knees like me and rested his head on them, looking at me sadly sideways.

A horrible, disgusting thought crept over me, as we sat observing each other. This child was obviously a prisoner of this space, this space Professor Dumbledore knew was created by the Dark Lord. Wands hurt. Everyone knew the story of how a certain Dark wizard had shown no qualms about attempting to murder a baby who had stood in his way. What if You-Know-Who _had_ managed to kill a child in the past? What if he had killed this boy? What if it was on purpose—no, worse than that. What if it was specifically _for _a purpose? The Dark Lord needed to hide something valuable. He needed protection for it. He would've known the ghost of a wizard, even a child, would easily grow into a Revenant in this place, right outside an enormous mental institution. It seemed extra twisted, and slightly risky, to use a child who didn't have fully-developed powers yet, but who knew how much more powerful this little ghost could have grown if left alone in torment for fifty more years, a hundred more years? If you are a Dark wizard intending to live forever, your secrets needed protection that would last forever too.

That's what this boy was.

He was a chained, human guard dog.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run at the barrier and tear it to pieces. If it thwarted me, I wanted to find You-Know-Who and rip him limb from limb instead. Dark hatred I had never felt before rose within me, a hundred times worse than my fury at Umbridge's detentions.

I didn't seem to be the only one feeling my fury. The boy lifted his head slightly from his arms and whimpered. He could sense my anger, and he was frightened by it. Instantly I recalled all of Severus's teachings and thrust my negative feelings back down, into a private little space where they would remain in case I needed to harness that destructive power later. But right now, I had a job to do, and more importantly, I had a suspected atrocity to investigate and avenge.

Relaxing myself, I moved to kneel so I was millimetres away from where I knew the invisible wall separated us.

"You're not going to be lost anymore. I'm going set you free and help you get home. I swear it to you," I said.

The boy perked his head up, and a mile-wide smile erased any ghostly visage superimposed over his cherubic face.

"Really?!" he asked, obviously ecstatic.

"I am," I nodded firmly.

"But in order to do that," I continued, "there's a couple things you'll have to do too. First, I'm going to need you to allow me to use my wand, because I can't get you out without it. I promise I won't use it to hurt you intentionally. I'll try my absolute best not to hurt you accidentally either, ok?"

"Ok," he said reluctantly. I knew this was a huge step for him. I reached for my wand, but he jumped to his feet and told me to wait. I froze in place, my fingertips just about to brush the handle, then settled back in a crouch so I didn't lose my balance. He took a few steps backwards and held his hands up defensively, as though I was about to leap for the wand and attack him with it anyway.

"Before … before you use the wand … I need to know I can trust you. I think you're nice, but sometimes nice people aren't nice at all. If you prove I can trust you, then I can help too. I can push from the inside while you push from the outside. But I don't want you using the wand near me until I know you're telling the truth."

"Ok, that sounds really fair. What can I do to prove you can trust me?"

The boy was silent for a moment. It didn't seem like he was thinking of ideas, more that he was working on gathering the courage to ask something he wanted more than anything, but was afraid I would refuse.  
"I want … I want you to find my mum. When you let me out, I want to go be with her."

My heart sank a little, both because of the likely impossibility of the task and also the desperate sadness of it. But I had promised. Hopefully together, he and I could figure this out, and soon. It had to already be past dinnertime.

But I gathered cheerfulness to me and replied brightly, "I can do that. If you tell me all you know, I bet I can find her. But will you do one tiny thing for me first?"

"What?"

"Can you tell me your name?"

The boy grinned from ear to ear. He stood up tall with his hands clasped behind his back like he was about to recite the ABCs perfectly for his kindergarten teacher.  
"I can tell you my name!" he declared proudly. "I can tell you my mummy's name too, so you can find her, and I also know my daddy's name because my grandmother said Mummy named me after him!"

"That's great! Let's try this again: Hi, my name's Avrille."

"Nice to meet you, Avrille! I'm Tommy!"


	16. Chapter Sixteen: SEVERUS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

_Severus_

Righting myself and brushing dirt from my hands, I looked down sadly at the unfinished work before me. I had obviously not been expecting a summons and therefore had no guesses as to the reason for it. In turn, I had no idea when I would be dismissed and able to return here. With some of the protective spells reinforced and the property's repelling charms renewed, I could technically say I had accomplished enough today to delay a return until I had more time. But it did pain me to leave my mother's grave only half-tidied. With a sigh of resignation, I took out my wand and directed it at the ground with a few sharp flicks. The remaining dead leaves and scattered twigs vanished, along with the small piles I had already collected. The marble tombstone suddenly shone in the wandlight as though I had spent hours polishing it, which I'd fully intended on doing.

Snow was beginning to fall in thick clumps, and the wind gusted even more fiercely than before. Even the weather appeared to be conspiring against me. I turned from the gravesite and walked briskly down the shallow hill towards looming forest, shaking my head and muttering in annoyance. At least the Dark Lord must have assumed I'd be at Hogwarts and wouldn't be expecting me for a few more minutes, due to the fact I would have to leave the grounds in order to Apparate from there. That gave me a comparable amount of time to breech the enchantments circling my estate. Once I felt the tell-tale tingling of magic wash over my limbs, I hurried to rid my mind of the irritation stewing within it. Bringing my wand to my lips, I murmured a message of warning to Avrille to make sure she stayed within the school's protective boundaries. A bolt of silver rushed from my wand and vanished in the shower of white before I could even attempt to follow it with my eyes. I cleared my mind of worry for her and Char and centred myself. Hoping I wasn't about to face the Dark Lord's wrath over an unknown infraction, I Disapparated.

When I appeared under a different set of trees near the Riddle House, I saw Selwyn standing only a few paces in front of me. His presence caused me to relax a little, ironically. If I wasn't the only one being summoned, chances were I wasn't about to be punished for something.

"You too?" I asked, genuinely curious as I straightened my cloak.

Selwyn turned slightly and acknowledged me over his shoulder with a curt nod of his peppery head. "Seems so," he replied. "I heard some others up ahead. Sounded like Goyle and Crabbe."

"You mean it sounded like two blind trolls crashing through the underbrush?" I asked snidely as I walked beside Selwyn, and he laughed derisively in return. Both of us picked our path carefully between close-growing trees, similar Impervius Charms helping make our passage through the brambles easier. Thankfully, Selwyn seemed to have got over his need for small talk. Our sunset excursion through the forest was, therefore, almost completely silent. An owl hooted balefully somewhere in the distance behind us, and I could just barely discern the puffing of the older man beside me. The sky was mostly clear, but the snow was deep. I wondered if the storm that was now poised to thrash Greyadder House had already passed through here. The sun was well below the level of the trees. The patches of sky visible between intersecting branches above me glowed with wispy crimson and amber clouds.

I pulled out my wand and set it alight, Selwyn following suit, and the crossed beams illuminated our misty breath in the dreadfully cold evening.

As we stepped from the cover of the trees onto the faintly gleaming snow-covered park, both Selwyn and I picked up our paces with an unspoken understanding. There appeared to be several sets of footprints, besides the long, scuffling trails left by Crabbe and Goyle, leading to the house ahead of us. From making a rough guess as to the number of the footprints' owners, plus the sound of at least one more person cursing their stumbled way through the brush behind us, it appeared the Dark Lord had summoned all of his current Death Eaters tonight. Since he was not the type of man to throw a holiday party for his subordinates, the nature of this summons was anyone's guess.

I was grateful when Selwyn and I entered the Riddle House and a comforting wave of heat surrounded me. Wind from the storm aside, the temperature in Hampshire had been milder with the sea tempering it. The muted sound of voices down the western corridor and a wet, muddy trail on the otherwise shining wood floor directed us to the drawing room where I had since reported in to the Dark Lord after his first audience with me when I was tortured in the grand saloon.

Upon entering the drawing room, I saw it was nearly filled with every Death Eater I had seen that first night. Extra furniture had been conjured from somewhere to accommodate the dozen or so men, but curiously, no one was sitting on it. Instead they had formed a throng near the fireplace. I could just make out the Dark Lord in the midst of it, his bald head standing several inches taller than any of the other men's. A handful of the group, Nott, Macnair, Yaxley, and Avery backed away and opened up the circle when Selwyn and I came into view so the Dark Lord could appraise us.

"Welcome, gentlemen," the Dark Lord offered, almost pleasantly. "I'm so glad you were able to join our little gathering."

A thudding of feet down the hall slowed to a rapid patter. Lucius hurried into the room, as I had expected, not noticing his presence among his usual cronies. Lucius's face was flushed and his breath was coming up short as though he had run the entire distance from the Apparation point, which I deemed very likely. However, I was surprised when Narcissa followed her husband shyly through the door and utterly shocked to see Draco slink in after her, hugging the wall as though wanting to stay as far away from the Dark Lord as possible. All three Malfoys were outfitted in evening dress, Narcissa's blood red heels and fur-lined cloak hem soaked with melted snow from the dash through the woods. They appeared to have been pulled away from a party at their manor.

Narcissa was putting on a good show of being at ease as the only woman in a room full of male Death Eaters, her bare arms clutching the edges of her cloak revealing she had not yet been required to take the Mark herself. Draco was not as skilled at hiding his intimidation. He continued to hang back uncomfortably as his mother and father paid their respects to the Dark Lord and only joined their side when Lucius turned back and glared at him. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dress robes, Draco slunk across the room, his pale eyes darting across the faces of the other adults. I couldn't help my breath catching as he locked eyes with me. I assumed that his father had told Draco of my status as a "Death Eater" by now. The way that Draco sometimes dared to speak to me in class, as though we were equals in a shared conspiracy, was a definite hint. No surprise showed on Draco's face now when he picked me out of the crowd, solidifying my guess that he had expected me to be here. In a strange way, I felt Draco's confidence rise slightly as he focused his attention back on his parents and his presentation before the Dark Lord. It was as though he felt more at ease knowing his teacher and Head of House was here as well, along with his parents.

Draco's presence was completely unexpected, and I silently wondered why he had been brought here while the children of the other Death Eaters were absent. On top of that, I was still wondering why any of us were here at all. Finally once the Malfoy family were settled, taking a hint from everyone else and remaining clustered to one side of the fireplace, the Dark Lord gestured for silence.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've summoned you here tonight," he began. "The Christmas season has always meant very little to me, though I know it is a time many enjoy spending and reuniting with their friends and family. Therefore, since I consider all of you to be _my_ family," [I pitied the fools who actually believed _that_ was true … ], "I couldn't let this, my first Christmas since my rebirth, pass without showing how much your support and devotion mean to me. With that in mind, I have prepared a little gift for you all. Call it my own version of a family reunion."

We all remained silent once the Dark Lord had finished speaking, and he gestured wordlessly with an upturned palm towards the double doors leading from the drawing room. They creaked open slowly. My own trepidation had increased with the Dark Lord's enigmatic words. Anything considered a gift from him was bound to inconvenience me, being the unfaithful Death Eater that I was.

It was difficult to hear at first, but gradually a sound carried down the hallway to us, growing louder and closer. It sounded like dozens of shuffling feet, either bare or soft-soled, mixed with a gentle rasping like canvas being dragged across the floor. Within moments the source of the mysterious noises came into view, and I wondered for a moment if the Dark Lord had confused his holidays, presenting us with a gift more suitable for Halloween than Christmas.

A herd of nearly a dozen beings filled the threshold. I say beings because there appeared to be very little that was human about them. It seemed, on first glance, that the Dark Lord had invited a throng of ghouls and a solitary hag to his country manor. All were clad in decaying robes of slate grey. The tattered remains of their hems showed most to be barefooted. The tangle of rags torn from the edges of the robes along with a few who were swathed in cloaks that looked like they had just been exhumed from a fifty-year-old grave accounted for the rustling noise I had heard upon their arrival. All had hair at least to their shoulders, the tangled, ratty locks of the female in front hanging to almost her waist. From each apparition's face, eyes protruded above sunken cheeks, unblinking and almost fully dilated as if they were not used to being in the light and were almost blind to the fact they were in any now at all.

Before I could begin to analyse what exactly was happening, I heard Narcissa gasp next to me, "Bella!" She covered her scarlet-painted mouth with a pale, perfectly manicured hand. It was shaking.

The ragged female leading the seeming crowd of Inferi slowly raised her eyes from the floorboards until she had focused her unblinking gaze at Narcissa. From beneath her wildly overgrown fringe, I heard her murmur, "Cissy?" It sounded like a croak, and her voice cracked between syllables.

I could barely believe it, but upon closer inspection there was no denying Bellatrix Lestrange stood before me. Bellatrix Lestrange, who by all rights and purposes was supposed to be at this very minute securely locked up behind bars and an army of Dementors in Azkaban. Yet, though her transformation was utterly staggering, there was no denying it was her. Before her arrest, Bellatrix had been a very attractive woman. The sort of woman one would refer to as handsome and majestic rather than classically beautiful, like her two sisters. I, of course, had never felt an inkling of attraction to her, but I knew many of my acquaintance did. The contrast of her previously haughty, regal carriage with the creeping, pathetic creature before me was much more stark than the degradation of her companions. Oh yes, I recognised them now as well.

Directly behind Bellatrix stood her husband, Rodolphus, and his brother, Rabastan. Both of them resembled half-transformed werewolves at the moment, with their mostly-grey hair hanging over their shoulders to almost merge completely with their thick beards. Already a thin man when he'd entered Azkaban, imprisonment had wasted Antonin Dolohov to near skeletal proportions. The way his cracked lips were pulled back from his teeth in a leer as he looked excitedly around his new surroundings amplified the deathly resemblance. The normally blonde Leander Jugson and Thorfinn Rowle appeared to have hair nearly as dark as mine due to the amount of filth matting theirs. Jugson kept scratching at his head as though vermin were crawling through it, which I suppose they most likely were. Three other men I didn't know the names of. One I did not recognise at all, though I thought another might have been someone I used to see when visiting the Ministry. I had the vague notion the third was named Mulciber. He was the most elderly of the bunch, what remained of his thinned hair beneath his bald pate had bleached startlingly white.

While these nine newcomers were either standing completely in shock or slowly becoming aware they were no longer encased in a stone cell, the final, tenth of their number seemed in full command of his faculties and was currently staring straight at me. Being the tallest of the group, he stood nearly half a head above the others. I felt my gut wrench slightly as I suddenly recognised the face behind the wild, unkempt black hair. Locking eyes with me, with an expression of utmost loathing pinching his hollow face, was my erstwhile "friend" from our school days sharing a Slytherin dormitory at Hogwarts, Rufus Carrington.

Never one to choose his companions wisely, Carrington had joined with the Death Eaters straight after leaving Hogwarts, having decided to forgo graduate school. It was because of his association with them that I was tempted to follow the Dark Lord myself when I returned to England after receiving my additional degree at the Academia Veneficiorum. All of my acquaintances there had either been foreigners or Englishmen, who decided to stay in Italy or venture out into another part of the world entirely. That meant when I came home three years later, highly educated but unemployed and unwilling to return to my parents' home to live, Carrington's renewed companionship and promises of great rewards should I strive to join the Death Eaters as well was highly tempting. But I had never considered myself to be actually close to Carrington, and when I turned my back on the Death Eaters and in essence betrayed him, it was without a single regret or thought of his future wellbeing. I had never forgiven him for the disparaging remarks he had occasionally uttered about my close friendship with Lily, a worthless Mudblood in his eyes.

It was, of course, because of Lily that I defected from the Death Eaters. My close friendship with her, bordering on brotherly love, had long served another purpose by way of acting as a moral conscience for me. Whenever I listened to speeches by the Dark Lord or some high-ranking Death Eater about the depravity of Muggles and the worse crimes committed by Mudbloods, who only possessed magic by wilful theft, Lily's face would float into my mind. I would hear her voice saying, scathingly, _"You're not seriously buying into all that, are you, Severus? How can you listen to such stupid drivel! You're smarter than this! If they're Mudbloods, than so am I!"_

The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back came when I confirmed, though careful observation and questioning, that Lily's newborn son was indeed considered the child of the prophecy, at least by the Dark Lord. His opinion was the only one that mattered. I could not risk being seen with Lily after that, so we never did meet in person again. I was able to pass her a few letters via Professor Dumbledore, which he told me she burned after reading per my request. I also destroyed her replies, with regret. However, I couldn't bear to part with the last one she wrote me before her death. In it she stated she knew the mistake I had made, the terrible lapse in judgement that had put the life of her family in danger, but she forgave me and missed me.

Returning to Carrington, I had long known he was in Azkaban. Many members of my House from when I attended Hogwarts, and several from the others, though the current Heads rarely acknowledged it, were imprisoned there. Carrington had been sent away just before the Dark Lord's first downfall, after I'd already double-crossed the Death Eaters to truly serve the Order instead. He had gotten himself mixed up in some very nasty business, hunting down Aurors and other known dissenters of the Dark Lord's growing power. He'd been one of the men responsible for the gruesome murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett, along with Dolohov and a few others who together had greatly outnumbered the poor brothers. Sometimes even now when I would look at Molly, I could still hear the piercing anguish she'd screamed when their bloodied bodies had been brought back to Headquarters.

The Dark Lord interrupted my silent stand-off with Carrington by taking several paces forward to set himself in front of the ragtag group still clustered in the doorway. Those who had enough sense about them to realise they were no longer prisoners of the deepest recesses of their minds fell to their knees instantly. The few who were still completely shell-shocked, namely Mulciber and the Lestrange brothers—Rodolphus not even seeming to realise yet that his wife, whom he had not set eyes on for nearly fifteen years, was standing directly in front of him—were soon pulled down into a subservient position as well by their more aware companions. Bellatrix, who had staggered in a momentary swoon when she saw the Dark Lord stood before her, nearly exposed her brother-in-law to nakedness when she grasped a handful of his decayed robes and yanked them downwards with a loud ripping. Rabastan continued to gaze about distractedly as he knelt, not noticing that his entire chest had been made bare by the movement. His exposed skin revealed dozens of knotted, yellow scars underneath more fresh wounds, two sets of five parallel lacerations stretching from his neck to his navel and a blackness underneath his claw-like fingernails suggesting he had been tearing at his own flesh for years.

The Dark Lord opened his arms in welcome to the newly arrived Death Eaters. The closest thing to a truly joyful smile I'd ever seen on his face melted his waxy features. For a split instant, I could just almost glimpse a sliver of humanity shining its way through the cold, serpentine face before a mad gleam in his red eyes reminded me of his true nature.

"Welcome. Welcome, my most devoted servants. I know through the recent years you have suffered almost as much as I have for your faithfulness to me. Now you have been set free, as I promised you would be." The Dark Lord paused, as if overcome with emotion he could in no possible way actually feel. Bellatrix seized the opportunity to crawl across the floor on her hands until she was practically prostrate on the ground before him. I think she would have kissed his feet had they not been hidden beneath the voluminous folds of his black robes.

"My Lord," she whispered hoarsely. "I cannot believe it is truly you, at long last. I must be dreaming. I never stopped believing you would return to us." Bellatrix's shoulders began to shake as she knelt before him with her head bowed and her hands clasped before her on the ground like she was about to perform an Asian kowtow. Her arms, supporting the slight weight of her atrophied upper body, were trembling nevertheless to the point where she appeared barely able to keep herself from collapsing on her face. Tears fell onto her filthy hands, the topmost layer of grime muddying the salty rivulets as they ran down to pool together on the floor for a moment before sinking into the pristine carpet.

"Stand, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord said, and he bent to lift her to her feet. Bellatrix gasped when his hands touched hers, and a collective rustling spread through the room as everyone watching shifted in various ways to silently express their surprise. None of us had ever seen the Dark Lord physically touch one of his followers before. Bellatrix continued to quiver and weep once standing, the honour of her hands lying clasped within the Dark Lord's seemingly too much for her to bear.

"You shall be honoured above of all my followers. I have been told the words you spoke on my behalf during your trial. Lord Voldemort never fails to reward his faithful." He released Bellatrix's hands, and she stumbled backwards to stand amongst the other freed prisoners once more. She pressed her palms against her mouth and tried to kiss what remained of the Dark Lord on her skin. However, I happened to notice that he, on the other hand, was subtly flexing his fingers as though wishing he could wipe them off on his robes.

"You may welcome your brethren now," he commanded loudly to the rest of the room with a dismissive wave. His words broke the spell that had been hovering over the room. As the Dark Lord retreated to the warmth of the hearthstones once more, the two distinct groups, incarcerated Death Eaters and non, slowly merged. Narcissa bolted almost immediately to her sister's side. She nearly crashed into the frail woman when the heel of her ruined shoes snagged on the trailing hem of her luxurious cloak. Narcissa pulled the cloak from her shoulders and swathed Bellatrix with it, then embraced the fur-clad woman tightly. Lucius and Draco had followed Narcissa, though they did not seem as obviously joyful at their families' reunion. Lucius patted his brother-in-law awkwardly on the shoulder. Draco continued to stare at the other former prisoners like they were a sideshow display that slightly disgusted him.

Taking a cue from the Malfoys, the rest of us began to "greet" the returning heroes. Those more skilled at spellwork helped move the newcomers to sit down on the unused furniture and commenced casting various cleansing charms to remove what ravages of Azkaban they could. The room reeked with the overpowering odour of soiled clothing and rot. Biting my cheek in annoyance, I dutifully conjured the dozen or so Nourishment Potions I had stored in my office at Hogwarts and began doling them out with a brief explanation of what they were. Rabastan and Mulciber were still miles away and accepted their potions with vague nods as they stared in horror at something invisible over my shoulder. Carefully keeping the revulsion I was feeling from my face, I tipped the potion between their cracked and bleeding lips myself, knowing I could have been just as well pouring poison down their throats for all they knew. I can't say that the currently suppressed Order part of me wasn't tempted to do just that and save us the trouble of catching these murderers again at a later date.

I saved Carrington for last. I found him hunched over in the same armchair I had occupied the day the Dark Lord had interrogated me about my wand. He looked like he was about to fall asleep at any moment. Someone had at least taken a moment to charm away the excess length from his hair and beard. He now looked very much like his father had, the handful of times I'd met him during family weekends at school (my own father, thankfully, never having bothered to attend once).

"Hullo, Severus," he said wearily with his eyes half-closed, when he saw me crouch down on the floor beside him. I was surprised to see him so lethargic after appearing to be the most coherent of his comrades only a few short minutes ago. Perhaps he had gathered his remaining strength to appear at his best advantage right from the start but had ended up being unable to continue the pretence after depleting his reserves.

"How are you?" I asked, genuinely curious, though not because I cared a whit how he was feeling. My question was motivated by a desire to ascertain the exact nature of the venomous expression he'd fixed on me on his arrival. Obviously he must resent anyone who escaped imprisonment, but I'd feel much more at ease when I knew for sure it wasn't anything more personal than that.

"Been better," he admitted, actually cracking a half-smile. For an instant he once more resembled the roguish teenager who had always despaired at my lack of interest in his mischief-making. His expression almost immediately fell back into one of exhaustion, the act of smiling too taxing an exercise to maintain for any longer than a moment.

"Here," I said, offering the Nourishment Potion to him. "This will help." After fumbling with the stopper for a moment with fingers that appeared half frostbitten, Carrington raised the flask to his mouth and downed the contents in a gulp.

"Give me your hands."

Carrington obeyed without question, and I ran my wand over his peeling, blackened fingertips with a healing spell held in my mind until they regenerated. The new skin, bright pink with restored blood-flow, looked raw and sore, but Carrington didn't wince with any pain. He looked beyond the point of feeling much of anything at the moment.

"What year is it?" he whispered hoarsely, eyes fully closed now as he rested against the back of the chair, the Nourishment Potion beginning its work on his insides. Even though I knew he was a cold-blooded murderer who deserved every second of incarceration he had served and that he would surely kill me without a second thought if he knew my true loyalties, the pathos of his question left me momentarily empathetic for him.

"Nineteen ninety-five. It will be Christmas Eve tomorrow," I replied with detachment, remembering myself and what this man could possibly do to me and my family should he be so inclined. He might have looked peaceful and relatively harmless at the moment, more like an overgrown boy than a hardened criminal, but I had never once forgotten that he was the greatest threat to Avrille's current anonymity. I would have selfishly emptied all of the other cells in Azkaban myself if it had meant Carrington remained there to rot. It had been his cousin, after all, who had been part of the plot to kidnap Avrille as a child and was convicted as an accessory to her father's resulting murder when the plan went awry. As much as I hoped half of his mind had decayed from the Dementors' continual feasting on it, it would be dangerous to take a mere hope as something for granted.

I don't know if he heard me, for he didn't reply. He appeared to have drifted off to sleep. I started slightly at a tapping on my shoulder. My worried musings had brought me too deep into my own head for a moment, a dangerous and imprudent state to be in. I looked up to see Selwyn looming over me.

"The Dark Lord wishes to speak with us," he muttered, so as to not wake Carrington. I stood and followed him. The Dark Lord must have slipped from the room while I was busy distributing the potions, for Selwyn led me out into the hall. We turned a corner, sending us in a different direction than the way I usually took when leaving the house. Now away from the congested drawing room, the house around us was completely silent.

Another turn brought us to the rear of the house and through a back door leading outside. A long row of neatly trimmed box hedges ensured we did not deviate from the path leading to the extensive summer gardens. I wondered who had been tending the plants, though it was probably Wormtail. His main duties as household dogsbody fulfilled, he had perhaps been relegated to groundskeeper. One thing I noticed that made me start to question if Selwyn was lying about the Dark Lord needing us was that the only footprints I trampled over as we shuffled through the ankle-high snow belonged to the man I was following. Ahead of Selwyn, the snow lay unmarred and glistening under the fragile light of a slender crescent moon.

But it transpired Selwyn had been telling the truth after all. A few more rows of hedges guided us to the centre of the garden where the Dark Lord stood alone beside a dry fountain. His back was to us, and unbelievably, not an inch of snow around him had been disturbed. Even had he chosen to Apparate to that spot, there would at least should have been a slight swoop of white from his cloak swirling around him on appearance. It was if he had alit from the very air. The prospect of that was more than a bit disquieting.

The Dark Lord turned when he heard the noise of our more conventional approach.

"You've brought him," he remarked to Selwyn, even though it was obvious.

"My Lord," Selwyn murmured and bowed his head. Though I always employed a basic Occlumency spell twenty-four hours a day, I usually strengthened it whenever I felt my Mark summoning me to the Dark Lord's side. A growing apprehension in me, heightened by the sudden thrusting of Carrington back into my life, made me recheck all my protections were in place to an almost obsessive degree. I did not know why the Dark Lord would lead me away from practically everyone, but it could be for either a very good or a very bad reason. He made the reason plain straight away, though whether it would turn out to be good or bad for me had yet to be determined.

"Our recently freed comrades-in-arms are going to need seeing to until they have recovered enough of their strength for self-sufficiency." When the Dark Lord spoke, no vaporous mist accented his words. I didn't know if it was because of some Warming Charm he was casting around himself, for he wore no cloak over his silk robes and was, as usual, barefoot, or if his breath was simply as cold as the frigid air around us. The lack of this basic human phenomenon was almost more disturbing than his mysterious appearance in the untouched garden.

"All of them," he continued, "had their properties stripped from them and significant portions of their wealth forcibly donated as reparations to the Mudbloods and blood-traitors they supposedly harmed. Therefore, I am expecting each of my well-established Death Eaters to share some of their burden. The Malfoys will obviously see to the Lestranges, at least temporarily. The Ministry will undoubtedly have their eye on anyone related to those they hunt once the full extent of my great liberation is known." I took note of his wording in the back of my mind. Obviously, I had not been able to determine yet how this breakout had occurred—I guessed a good number of Dementors had finally revolted—but it appeared from what he said, the Ministry had perhaps not even realised they were missing ten high-security prisoners.

"Yaxley has a summer cottage on the north coast where he can hide Dolohov and Rookwood, and Macnair knows of an unused Ministry safe-house that can suit for Gibbon and Rowle until those fools in the government begin to finally suspect their own people. Claudius," he indicated Selwyn with a careless gesture of his white left hand while he continued to fix his focus on me, "will assist Mulciber and Jugson." Selwyn nodded stonily in acceptance. He had most likely not counted on adding two prison escapee place settings to the table of his family's Christmas fête. I wondered how his little Muggle-born wife would react to this holiday gift.

"As for Carrington, it is my wish that you see to him personally, Severus. If memory serves me right, the two of you used to be thick as thieves in the old days." I knew better than to correct the Dark Lord's overestimation of the esteem Carrington and I held for each other, even back then.

"For now you will set him up at your house in Hampshire. Claudius has been there already and reports your defences surrounding the property are most satisfactory." I couldn't stop the blood draining from my face when the Dark Lord said this, though hopefully it would go unnoticed in the dim moonlight. I made sure no other physical reaction of mine showed the depths of the violation I was feeling. I suppose it should have been obvious to me that the Dark Lord knew where my family home was. After all, my father had been an ardent supporter of his, though he had never made the commitment to become a Death Eater himself. Frankly, it would have lessened my opinion of his impressive autocracy had he not investigated the complete history of each of his most trusted servants. But having the candid, almost offhand affirmation that he knew the exact location where I had lived many of the worst moments of my life, and one or two of the best ones with Avrille, was like a slap in the face. Even worse was knowing that he had sent Selwyn to try and penetrate the boundary.

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Selwyn. Surprisingly, he looked almost guilty. He met my surreptitious stare for only a moment before dropping his focus to his snow-covered shoes.

"I trust your wards are as effective inside as they are out?" the Dark Lord asked me.

"My Lord?" I asked, confused.

"I'm asking if, once you have Carrington inside and you reseal the spells protecting your property, would he be able to leave of his own volition?" he demanded impatiently. I hurried to appease him, though still not quite understanding why he wanted to know this.

"Yes, I would imagine so. Unless Carrington has been secretly practicing custom spell-breaking in Azkaban, he would be detained within the boundaries of the estate until I returned for him. He would be unable to Apparate, use the Floo network, or even simply walk out the gate. The protections form a dome over the area, preventing even escape by broomstick, should he be able to procure one."

"Good. That shall serve my purposes well, then. I do not want it known to the man, but though I have generously allowed him to be free to serve me once again, he is not to be left to his own devices. I have long suspected someone close to me betrayed me in the final months before my … disappearance. Carrington would have been a prime candidate. I never felt his true devotion, as I did from the rest of you. He also got himself arrested, conveniently before the need arose to search for me, and cannot vouch for himself like the Lestranges did with their admirable attempts to locate my spirit."

Once again I appreciated very acutely how my mastery of Occlumency had saved my life on so many occasions. The Dark Lord did not attempt to lay bare my mind now, but that was simply because I had done so well in the past to assure him there were no traitorous thoughts there to be discovered. That he wrongly now believed Carrington to be the Death Eater spy did not ruffle my conscience in the slightest. Though I was still digesting the unpleasant idea of housing Carrington at Greyadder House, I couldn't deny I had been handed an inadvertent windfall. I had, only moments before, wished Carrington was still imprisoned.

It seemed, for the immediate future at least, my wish would be granted.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: AVRILLE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

_Avrille_

"I'm Tommy!"

With those words I felt like the Warming Charm I'd cast on myself had suddenly blown away with a blast of artic air. I kept a smile on my lips, but that was only because once in a while Severus's lessons of self-control and concealing my true emotions would actually kick in. Fortunately this was one of those times, unlike that night of confronting Umbridge. The last thing I wanted to do was alarm Tommy when I'd finally convinced him I was "nice," and slowly backing away from him with shock written all over my face was not a natural reaction to having a little boy tell you his name.

But the forest had suddenly grown darker and more confining after his innocent introduction. Staring at the excited face of the boy in front of me, I recalled a brief conversation Severus and I had shared. It'd happened a few months after our relationship had started during my apprenticeship, and after he'd told me about his past as a Death Eater.

"_Why do you call him 'the Dark Lord?'" _I'd asked, as we sat in his office together, grading students' homework._ "Why not 'You-Know-Who' or even his real name, like Professor Dumbledore does?" _I was genuinely curious. We had little compunction about calling him Lord Voldemort in Canada, where his influence had been barely felt for the most part, my father's murder aside. I'd had to adopt the habit of using euphemisms almost immediately upon my arrival in England, after the first couple careless slips of the name caused me to receive black, terrified looks from those who overheard me.

Severus visibly twitched at the thought of speaking with such carefree insolence, in his mind. _"It is how all Death Eaters refer to him," _he replied, as he transcribed some marks into a ledger. _"At first it was from forced habit; a Death Eater could find himself at the wrong end of a Cruciatus Curse should he not demonstrate proper respect in both his actions and speech. Later … it was because of a different sort of respect. 'You-Know-Who' and 'He Who Must Not Be Named' are not disrespectful, per se, but they do not convey the same feeling of his complete supremacy before his fall. Professor Dumbledore has no fear of him and thus feels confident using the Dark Lord's true name. Even though he is gone for the moment, my fear of him will never completely dissipate. I saw too many horrors firsthand, noting each time it would be easy for them to be happening to me instead."_

"_It's such a strange name, though. He isn't French, is he?"_

"_No, he is as English as I am. He fashioned the name while in school to start separating himself from both his own past and every single human around him. I do not fear speaking his birth name, for that man is long dead. Few now remember it, but he was born and graduated Hogwarts as Riddle. Tom Riddle."_

Tom.

No, it had to be a coincidence. There must be hundreds of thousands of little boys named Tommy in Great Britain who had no connection to the wizarding world whatsoever. For all I knew, this boy had been Muggle-born with no witch or wizard relations for generations back. But still … I'd feel a lot better once I'd figured out who his parents were. Hopefully that would provide a satisfactory explanation as to why his spirit was trapped here on the outskirts of a mental asylum.

I slowly stood up. Sitting in that half-crouch from when Tommy had stopped me grabbing my wand was shooting cramps up through my calves. I'd worry about retrieving the wand in a minute.

"So, Tommy, now that we're finally properly introduced, can you tell me about your mommy and daddy?" I asked. Tommy stared back at me blankly. Maybe that was too broad a question for someone his "age."

"How about your mommy first. What's her name?" I asked, trying to be more specific.

"Edith Kensington. I'm Tommy Kensington, like Mummy. My grandfather and grandmother are Kensingtons, too. Arthur and Ruth Kensington, but I just call them Grandmother and Grandfather."

I thought that sounded oddly formal, but maybe that's just how kids called their grandparents back then. At least I had some names. That was _something_ to start with.

"And your father? Do you know his whole name too?" I asked.

Tommy shook his head. "No, just that we have the same name. My real name is Thomas, but no one calls me that, except my grandparents when I was naughty. They never let me ask questions about my mum and dad. But this one time I heard them talking when they thought I was out playing. Grandmother said she wished they'd named me something else instead, but at least I was Thomas, not Tom like my mum had wanted. Mum said I _had_ to be Tom, but Grandmother said that wasn't a proper name. So I'm Thomas."

Great, this wasn't making me feel any better about this weird idea I was forming in the back of my mind.

"So, you don't know anything about your dad, except that he's named Tom?" I asked, mentally crossing my fingers for more information than just that.

"No, sorry," Tommy replied glumly. I think he could tell I was a little disappointed. He added, seeming to feel the need to apologize, "I didn't even know I had a daddy until then. I thought I just had a mummy, who was sick, but my friend Susie from up the lane said everybody has a mummy and a daddy. She said I was dumb because I thought I only had a mummy."

Nice. Glad to hear kids where being just as mean to each other fifty-odd years ago. Sheesh. I wonder what'd happened to Dad. If Grandma and Grandpa didn't want to acknowledge him, that smacked of young, unmarried mother to me.

"Ok, so you lived with your grandparents before you got lost here. Do you remember your address?"

"I … I don't remember. I used to know it, in case I got lost. I lived in Godric's Hollow, but I don't remember my street. Maybe if I remembered my street, I wouldn't be lost." Tommy's dark eyes welled up with tears once more. Godric's Hollow. Just like Professor Dumbledore had thought. There had to be a magical connection here.

"Oh, honey, it's ok. It's not your fault you're lost. Someone mean put you here and won't let you leave, but I'm going to work really hard to get you out, remember?" I wanted to wipe the tears away from his cheeks, but I had to settle for soothing him with my voice instead. Tommy nodded and rubbed the back of his arm over his eyes again.

"You lived in Godric's Hollow. That's a _huge_ help. But in order to find your mom, I really need to know what hospital she lived at. Is there any way you remember that too?"

Tommy hesitated, sucking on the tip of his thumb for a moment before saying slowly, as if he were dredging the memories up from the depths of a black, murky lake, "I don't know the name, but I remember what it looked like. Grandmother took me with her once because she needed to sign some papers. Grandfather was at work, and Susie's mum wasn't home, so I needed to go with her. Grandmother brought me to a big, big red building. There were so many windows. I was hoping I would be able to see Mummy, but Grandmother brought me right back home."

We were so close, I just knew it. It seemed incredibly unlikely a grandmother wouldn't take a boy to visit his mother if she was simply convalescing in a sanatorium somewhere from a physical illness. These people had wanted their grandson completely isolated from both of his parents. That indicated a particular type of hospital, in my mind. Of course, there were probably dozens of hospitals made out of brick with tons of windows, so I needed one more, definitive clue before I began my search.

"Do you remember passing through a big gate at the hospital?"

A nod in confirmation.

Crossing my fingers inside my jacket pockets, "Was there anything special about the gate?"

"There was a bird. A big bird, in the bars."

Jackpot.

It's what I'd been hoping, because it made the most sense given Tommy's proximity to Wren Hill, but I hadn't wanted to waste a bunch of time on a wild goose chase if his closeness was merely a coincidence and she'd lived somewhere else. But Tommy had confirmed it. His mother was Edith Kensington, one-time resident of Wren Hill Mental Asylum. Now the hard part began, seeing as how the asylum had been abandoned for about twenty years.

"Tommy, that's excellent. You've done really well. I think I have enough to go on for the moment," I said. He swelled with my praise like a large flower opening its petals to the sun. I just hoped so much I wasn't setting him up for disappointment. Even though he was a ghost, I didn't want him to be hurt, and I knew my job for Professor Dumbledore also hinged on Tommy's happiness and trust.

"I'm going to need to leave you for a little while to go look for your mom at the hospital, ok?"

Tommy said that was ok and also that I could pick up my wand now, but he still didn't want me to do any magic until I was far away. I thought that was fair and relied on shining my wandlight around for a moment to locate the map I'd dropped earlier. My right arm and shoulder were still bothering me quite a bit. That whole side of my torso ached as I bent down to retrieve the map, after discovering it resting a few feet away from the tree I'd crashed into.

"Avrille?" Tommy's voice made me look up from the surface of the map I'd been trying to examine in the dim light. He was lying on his side, curled up on the ground again like he was exhausted.

"Yeah?"

"Watch out for the Bad Man. He already got me. I don't want him to get you too."  
"No one's going to get me, Tommy," I assured him, but his creepy warning left me feeling even more unsettled.

Giving Tommy one more promise that I'd be back as soon as I could, I started to make my way back through the tangled forest. Once or twice I looked back over my shoulder toward the clearing where my ultimate goal continued to hide, tantalizingly just out of reach. Each time I was able to make out Tommy's strange, black and white glow, flickering in and out of view behind thick tree trunks until I covered enough ground that he was out of sight.

When I was confident I'd put enough distance between us, I Disapparated to reappear in the administration courtyard again. Even out in the open, away from the claustrophobic press of trees, it was almost pitch black. A sharp sliver of a crescent moon had barely mounted the rooftops, and its anaemic light seemed to only produce more shadows. Now that I was able to use magic freely, I upped the brightness of my wand and shined it over the map in my other hand. The small, red circle still glowed ominously in the top right corner, where Tommy was waiting hopefully for my return. I hadn't examined the map with much attention before now, except to note the relation of my labelled dot to my eventual destination. Looking it over closely now, I didn't think it would do me much good after all. It was simply an aerial map of the property that showed the outlines of buildings as a flying bird would see them. The complex consisted of dozens of other smaller structures, various wards, staff dormitories, and workshops laid out asymmetrically in a sprawling tangle. I folded the map back up and stashed it in my pocket.

With effort, I yanked the double doors leading back into the administration building open. They slammed shut with an echoing bang behind me. I stepped carefully into the chaotic reception office and shot several spheres of light out from my wand. The spheres floated up to hover near the ceiling, giving me much more light to see by than just the beam from my wand tip. I glanced around me and was pleased to discover almost instantly a large, interior map of the hospital pinned to a bulletin board above a desk to my left. Carefully climbing on top of the desk's Formica writing surface, dusty with paint chips that crunched beneath my boot heels, I tried to pull an edge of the map away. It was still pinned securely by four corroded tacks, but the true problem lay with how humidity and time had basically melded the industrial paper into the cork of the board behind it.

If I'd been a Muggle, I'd probably have torn the map into a hundred, useless pieces trying to separate it, but fortunately I had much more efficient means at my disposal. A slow, delicately wielded Severing Charm was enough to separate the very outmost layer of layer of cork until the map came away from the wall in my hands, feeling like it was simply glued to a very thin piece of cardboard. I hopped down and studied the map intently. After a minute, I was able to locate the records room on the third floor. Taking the stiff, mildew-stained map in one hand, I left the office and headed across the foyer to one of the sets of ward doors, my spheres of light drifting a few paces behind me lazily.

A firm tug on the doors revealed them to be locked. It was doubtful the building was currently serviced with electricity, and I didn't know the keycode anyway, but once again being a witch proved very useful. The simplest Unlocking Charm had the doors opening with a metallic grind to admit me. I passed through with sadness, thinking how hundreds of Muggles, many of whom were undoubtedly held against their will, had been defeated for decades by a small metal square of numbers that could be probably bypassed by a first-year at Hogwarts.

An impossibly long hall stretched before me. On my left was a long line of almost solid timber, every single window boarded over like I'd seen from the outside on approach. Almost directly to my right was a set of stairs climbing to the second and third levels, beside a small section of wall that was stencilled with the words "EAST WARD A" in faded black paint. I climbed the stairs, testing the first few gingerly to make sure they'd hold my weight, even though they seemed solid enough still. Black rubber treads on each step, originally laid to help prevent falls on the slippery old wood, ironically tripped me up a couple times since they were almost all curled back around their edges.

Upstairs was ever so slightly brighter, due to the fact that these windows were bare. Most had their glass intact and stood as large rectangular portals to the starry night outside, framing the indigo darkness in white-painted panes. My mage-lights bumped along the high ceiling silently. This hallway appeared identically long as the one two floors below it. The walls were painted in a two-toned cross-section of medical sage green over yellowed ivory, and old-fashioned radiators painted in the same bland ecru were set at regular intervals between closed doors. All of the paint for the whole length of the hall was cracked, flaked, and peeling like leprous skin. The map indicated the records room should be down this way, around a few turns and tucked into a back corner of the building, so I started down the hall. I had to step carefully to avoid large chunks plaster from collapsed portions of ceiling or lest I become entangled in the thick ivy that had grown like a botanical disease in through broken window panes, digging in fiercely to the chipped tile floor.

I was glad I had the building floor plan with me. While glancing at it in the office, the way to the hospital records seemed easy enough, with only a few left and right turns. However, I soon found that the diagram made the hospital appear much smaller than it actually was. After only a couple turns at intersecting hallways, I'm sure I would've gotten lost if I didn't have a reference to track my progress through the eerily indistinguishable passageways. The way each new hall was nearly identical to the one preceding it gave the place a distinctly sterile feel, despite its dilapidated state.

Most doors I passed were shut and locked up tight, but several stood open. Into each one I cast my wand's beam for a cursory inspection. This part of the building seemed like it might have housed the higher functioning patients. I figured those with more serious conditions would be located away from the building where a potential visitor or administrator might bump into them. Most of the rooms were large and empty, suggesting communal dormitories or dayrooms with even larger windows than the hallway's that would've allowed plenty of sunlight to stream in. The only decidedly creepy thing I spotted were two enormous, stained porcelain tubs in a floor-to-ceiling tiled room. The tubs were long and deep enough for four people to lie on top of each other in them, and for a single person to easily drown.

I thought I must be approaching the correct end of the building soon; it should be at the end of the next hall. Passing through yet another set of ubiquitous locked double doors, I found myself in a raised tunnel that apparently connected the main building to another one; it'd looked like all one building on the map. The records room must be in the first corner of the place next door. The passageway felt airy with its windows on each side, along with skylights in the ceiling. A peeling mural of a forest spread itself across nearly the entire corridor.

Through more doors and around one more corner, and I finally located a chestnut door with a tarnished bronze plaque reading, "Patient Records." I hesitated for a moment, not quite ready to handle the disappointment of an empty room. But knowing nothing I did or didn't do in the hall would change what was waiting for me inside, I unlocked the door and stepped through. I increased the output of my magical lights so I could view the room completely. It was a sufficiently large space resembling a small library with rows of wooden bookshelves. At least half of the shelves held labelled cardboard boxes, which was promising, though it was obvious many of the records had been removed. A row of metal filing cabinets lining an entire wall stood empty and rusting. I hadn't expected everything would be here since I figured a lot of the records would've been sent along with their corresponding patients when the hospital closed and its residents were dispersed throughout the new system. However, I was hoping against hope that just maybe the files of patients from a long time ago might still be here. Maybe the Muggles in charge of the county's main records department wouldn't have had room for boxes and boxes of the out-dated information of people who society deemed unimportant enough to lock away forever. It looked like maybe that'd been the case. Now, to see if Tommy's mother had been here long enough ago that her files never left.

It would've been much simpler, of course, if I'd been able to use a Summoning Charm from wherever to just have the records I wanted come zooming into my hand. I hadn't tried it yet because it seemed likely they'd be in a box or a locked drawer. The force I would have to apply to bust them out and send them flying over thousands of feet of brick building would've most likely disintegrated them. I couldn't conjure them because that only works with an object whose location you're sure of and can draw it away from. But assuming the records were right here, a little magic could speed things up for me now.

Pointing my wand at the rickety shelves, I thought, "_Accio Edith Kensington's records_."

Immediately, I heard a thumping on a shelf halfway down to my left. I cut the spell and hurried over before whatever was trying to escape from the box sent it tumbling to the floor. The box half-hanging off the shelf was labelled, "Patient Admitting, 1951-1955, KA-KE. Box 4 of 5." I pulled off the lid, sneezed a couple times from a burst of dust, then glanced inside. It contained half a dozen dark brown accordion folders. Directly under the top folder, bearing the name Kendrick, Albert, I found one for Kensington, Edith. I couldn't believe it was really here.

I placed my hands on Edith's file greedily, slowing down my haste in order to extract the thick stack of papers with care. At least the box that held her folder had been dry and undisturbed. Just a few shelves down, a whole section of boxes appeared melted. A huge watermark on the ceiling indicated a long-ago leak that had most likely dripped down and destroyed any chance of ever reading what those boxes had once contained.

I had no clue how big a psychiatric patient's file was on average, but Edith's seemed extra thick to me. On the very top was her admittance sheet. Her full name was Edith Elizabeth Kensington, born April 16, 1934. She had been committed to Wren Hill in the winter of 1951, a couple months before her seventeenth birthday. A small black and white picture was attached to a corner of the form with a rusty staple. It showed a thin, dour-faced girl (not surprising since I don't think I'd be grinning in my mental hospital mug-shot, either) who was nevertheless very beautiful. She looked well-cared for, her fair hair, that could've been either light brown or dirty blonde, fixed in perfect pinned waves around her face.

Following the top sheet bearing all of Edith's factual information—height, weight, address, et cetera—were a few pages of notes from an intake interview with one of the hospital's doctors. It began:

_Patient Edith Kensington, 16 on admittance, presents approximately six months pregnant. Her mother, Mrs Ruth Kensington, claims ignorance of the paternity. In her words, her daughter has always been "a simple girl" with "no common sense" and "a head full of foolish fantasy." Edith had been attending a local state school, producing mediocre marks, until her mother discovered her daughter was with child and withdrew her before the condition became known._

After the doctor's intake notes was an official county document: Edith's death certificate. This single piece of paper denoted the abrupt end to what I would soon uncover to be the young woman's short, tragic life. A hospital form attached to the certificate told me basically all I really needed to know, that is, where her body was buried. However, I didn't think simply knowing the location was enough. I wanted to understand who this girl was, and if she really did have a personal, perhaps intimate, connection to You-Know-Who.

So, I sat down on the dusty floor, sorted the documents into manageable piles, and began to read as quickly as I possibly could. Most information I skimmed through, but the passages I read in full were extremely enlightening. Ironically, it was these stories I fixed on that the doctors mainly dismissed as lunatic ravings and thus paid little heed. This is the brief biography of Edith Kensington I was able to compile in my mind:

Edith was born at home in Godric's Hollow to older parents, who'd almost given up hope of producing a child. Ruth Kensington's apparent barrenness was a source of conflict throughout her and her husband's early years together, and it seemed they had only stayed together because divorce was considered something that just wasn't done back then. Edith was therefore cherished when she did eventually come along, even spoiled and given too much leeway, according to her mother. Her mother claimed the girl was never very bright and prone to indulging in fantasy and fairy stories from a young age. Ruth and Arthur pushed their only daughter to do well in school, but she never performed up to their standards. University was out of the question, completion of a certification program unlikely, so the Kensingtons were mainly hoping Edith would settle down as soon as possible with a good husband who would take care of her.

It was therefore devastating to the parents when they discovered Edith was pregnant out of wedlock, and at only sixteen years of age. That was even more scandalous than divorce at the time, and Ruth and Arthur feared they would soon become social pariahs from it, along with Edith, who now had little chance of ever marrying well, if at all. At first Edith refused to tell them who the father was. The parents were at a loss because they never suspected Edith was seeing a boy, let along sleeping with one. When Edith finally broke down under pressure from her mother and father and told them what she insisted was the truth behind her pregnancy, they believed either her mind had gone or her shame had driven her to concoct a completely fantastical lie based on her inability to deal with reality. Either way, her parents decided it would be best for everyone, meaning the two of them and their reputation, to have Edith committed. When Edith was asked about all of this by her assigned clinician, Dr. Worth, this is what she told him in a session:

_Mum and Dad never knew about Tom, that's my boyfriend. I met him last summer, when I was on holiday from school. Mum took a secretary job for a few months, saying I needed to stay home and practice running things there for when I got married. Tom came around one morning when I was hanging out the washing. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen, tall with dark hair and eyes. He said he was visiting our town and was curious about my house. He said it was very old, and he was studying history. I didn't know my house was special. It was just down a lane, off Main Street in town. I guess it was old, but I never cared about history. But Tom said it was a very important house and a very important man used to live there a thousand years ago. He asked if I knew anything about that man, who had a very queer name. Godrick Gryphon-Door. I suppose the name was very historical as well. I'd never heard of him, but I told Tom I might've, because I wanted him to come visit again. _

_He did come back, the next time my mum was at work. Tom asked me if I could do magic. How funny he was! I told him, "Of course I can't do magic, that's something only little babies believe in." But then he told me he could do magic. Real magic. I didn't believe him, but then he showed me! He could do all sorts of amazing things, like make all the clothes wash and fold themselves so we could have more time to sit and talk. He made flowers out of thin air for me and gave me special potions that made me feel all warm and happy inside. Because he helped me get all the housework done so fast, I let him come in our house and look around. I didn't think he'd find anything, but he insisted my house was very magical too. That made me feel really special. I wanted to have magic like Tom, but he said I was a muggle and didn't have magic. He said it didn't matter, though, because I was beautiful. Tom made me feel so nice. No one ever told me I was beautiful before, just that I was slow and not good at maths._

_He came and visited me all summer. I told him my house didn't have any secrets, but he wanted to keep looking anyway. I think he really just wanted to keep coming to see me but was too shy to say because he didn't do a lot of actual looking. He used his wand a lot—that's how he did his magic, with his wand—but he didn't dig or anything like if he was _really_ trying to find something. We got … we got close that summer. I'm not proud of it, but Tom told me that he loved me and wanted to take care of me. My mum wanted me to get married, and I thought Tom would be a perfect husband. When I asked him if he loved me, he said he did. I really didn't think I'd end up in the family way. I thought you could only have a baby if you were married. I thought being married to Tom and having a baby would be just about the best thing in the whole world._

Dr. Worth noted here that Edith stopped for a while because she'd started to cry. When she calmed herself, she continued:

_Tom went away before school started again. He told me he had to do some work in another part of the country, but that he'd be back really soon. He didn't come back, though, and I found out I was in the family way in the fall. I didn't tell Mum or Dad for a while. I thought Tom would be back any day and then we could tell them together and get married by the vicar. I know Tom would come back if he knew about our baby. I want to write to him, but he never told me his address. He said magic people like him didn't use the post like we do, they use owls. Sometimes Tom used to tease me because I didn't know all the things that he knew. When he did that, his eyes would turn red like two hot coals. I guess he could be a little nasty sometimes and call me names when I didn't know the answer to a question he asked, but I know it was only because his work wasn't going well. He always told me he loved me afterwards._

_So, you can see, Doctor, that I really don't need to be in hospital. As soon as I can write to Tom, he'll come marry me and take care of me so Mum and Dad don't have to worry. They don't believe my stories about Tom, but they're not educated like you. You've gone to university, so I'm sure you've heard of magic, right? You must know I don't belong in here._

Unfortunately for Edith, Dr. Worth thought she was just as crazy as her parents did. He diagnosed her with having delusions, adding paranoia to the mix after she began claiming the doctors and her parents were conspiring together to keep her from Tom. He amended the diagnosis to include hysteria when Edith started having uncontrolled fits of rage after a few weeks of being locked up, understandably since I was convinced she'd been telling the truth about everything. Her honesty was rewarded by having her freedom stolen, followed by her baby soon after. Being only sixteen and institutionalized, her son Thomas was taken from her and given to her parents to raise immediately following his birth on May 8, 1951. I wonder what cover story they'd come up with for the neighbours since they'd been so ashamed of having a pregnant teenage daughter, who ended up in an asylum. Tommy's seeming fear and dislike of his grandfather made me think they were much harsher in their raising of him than with they'd been with Edith, possibly believing their indulgence with her had led to the whole mess.

While Edith was probably perfectly sane when she was committed, losing her baby on top of being treated like a lunatic did seem to eventually unhinge her. It looked like once Tommy was taken away, Edith's behaviour disintegrated. She became violent with the staff and toward herself and spent most of her time sedated with a drug called amobarbital. When the amobarbital appeared to worsen her "delusions" after a while, she was given something called electroconvulsive therapy on a fairly regular basis. The staff noted this type of therapy, whatever it was, greatly curbed Edith's fits and rendered her more compliant. She was able to spend increasingly more time with the other patients in communal areas making handicrafts and even started working in the patient gardens. The doctors and nurses were encouraged by Edith's seeming enthusiasm for the outdoor work, until she declared to a staff member that she'd managed to catch an owl after months of trying and had used it to send a message to Tom to tell him of their son. With the return of her "delusions," Edith was confined to her ward once more. The staff member Edith had confided in claimed he _had_ seen her with an owl, and the nurses were concerned Edith would end up harming herself by approaching more wild animals. The removal of her outdoor privileges sent Edith into a downward spiral once more. She resumed her claims of having a magical boyfriend who would soon come rescue her. When she grew out of control and seriously injured a nurse, she was removed from her ward and placed in isolation. A note here, near the end of her file, indicated Dr. Worth was considering using a more permanent form of treatment on Edith, a surgery called a prefrontal leucotomy.

However, Edith was never able to undergo this "treatment." Less than a week after she was moved to an isolation cell, two days after Tommy's fifth birthday, she was found dead. The doctors' first suspicion was suicide, but a coroner ruled out suffocation, due to a lack of petechiae, and a toxicology report showed the only drugs in her system were those prescribed by her doctor in the recommended doses. Her organs appeared all healthy and functioning. Her death was ruled to be from unspecified natural causes.

A brief note that was added at the very end made me almost positive Edith's death was anything but natural. Apparently the hospital tried to contact Arthur and Ruth Kensington to inform them of the death of their daughter and to arrange for them to claim her body, but they appeared to have disappeared, along with their grandson, on the very night Edith died. Police were investigating the matter, and no one knew of any other next of kin for Edith. When the hospital couldn't wait any longer, they buried her body in a plot on the grounds. The hospital didn't believe the death and disappearances were related and closed Edith's file. There was no more mention of what might've happened to Tommy and his grandparents.

I pulled all the scattered papers together and stuffed them back into the accordion folder except for the document that noted the location of Edith's grave, which I put in my pocket. I was glad I'd taken the extra time to go through all of the information. I vanished the folder to a box in our packed-up cottage in Hogsmeade, assuming Professor Dumbledore wouldn't want it left here where anyone could discover it like I had and not wanting to send it to the dungeons in case Severus stumbled upon it. I'd conjure it from the cottage and put it directly in Professor Dumbledore's hands later. I wondered if his take on all of it would be the same as mine. After reading the Muggles' take on Edith's history, this is the explanation _I'd_ formed in my mind:

Edith was a slightly simple girl with the unfortunate combination of being too beautiful, too trusting, and living in the wrong place at the wrong time. Professor Dumbledore had told me You-Know-Who had been searching for something of importance where Godric Gryffindor was born. Edith was seduced by a young wizard, around the same age You-Know-Who would've been at the time and matching his description. Severus had once shown me a photograph of You-Know-Who, taken while he was at school at Hogwarts. It was his official Head Boy portrait, probably one of the only few pictures of him in existence. You-Know-Who had destroyed every photo of himself he could get his hands on, but Professor Dumbledore had kept this one safe in the school's archives. The photograph had shown a very good-looking young man with dark eyes and hair. I don't think I was imagining his resemblance to Tommy. Edith's mystery wizard also apparently had no qualms about flouting the Statute of Secrecy when it suited him. He was either masterfully concealing his magic usage or counting on the secret magic performed by the other wizarding families in Godric's Hollow to render his unnoticeable. Either way, the Ministry never seemed to catch on since he spent the whole summer there.

This Tom needed information about the property, supposedly Gryffindor's ancient homestead and possible burial place. He discovered an unknowing Muggle girl lived there, all alone during the work week. From what I understood about You-Know-Who, in his early years he relied on charisma and charm even more than intimidation and blackmail to get what he wanted, having not firmly established his base of supporters quite yet. He could've easily disposed of the Muggle family living there but decided to work on Edith instead, in case she was hiding any information. After all, it's impossible to interrogate a dead body. Maybe he even went so far as to give her Veritaserum, those "warm and happy" potions Edith admitted she drank willingly.

I didn't believe for a second that Tom loved her or even cared about her at all, though he probably did tell her that to win her trust. You-Know-Who was a master manipulator, the young, naïve girl an easy target. She was alone all day, immature and unsophisticated in her intellect, and sheltered by aging parents. Feigning affection and dazzling her with magic beyond her wildest imaginings, he'd been invited into her home to do all the searching for Gryffindor's mysterious object, I'm guessing the sword that hung in Professor Dumbledore's office, as he could possibly want. She'd been a means to an end, and her beauty probably served as a half-hearted amusement for Tom, along with the power he must've felt growing her adoration of him like an experimental plant in a greenhouse. He was incapable of feeling love, but I highly doubted he'd managed to seal off his masculine urges completely yet to mean he didn't feel some measure of lust. Being utterly inexperienced with any man, Edith would've been unable to differentiate between love-making and being used for sex.

When weeks' worth of combing the property for clues failed to turn up any hints of Gryffindor's sword, Tom left without a backwards glance, not knowing he'd impregnated the Muggle girl who stayed behind. Having given her only his common birth name, he must have assumed he'd be impossible to trace. I wonder why he didn't wipe her memory. Maybe it was just another power trip for him. He knew that even if she did tell anyone about her summer affair with a wizard, no one would believe her.

Perhaps he might never have known about the accident he'd left behind if Edith hadn't somehow managed to catch an owl that knew how to deliver to a wizard with only his first name to go off of. No doubt dozens of owls must fly over the hospital property all the time, with it being so close to Godric's Hollow. Edith lucked out, and it resulted in her death. You-Know-Who found out he'd fathered a half-blood son with a "worthless" Muggle girl and returned to tidy up the mess he'd made. I didn't have time to search police reports and newspapers of the day, but I would harbour a good guess that the bodies of Ruth, Arthur, and Tommy Kensington were never found. Leaving behind a slew of bodies all related to each other and spread out over two locations would've been suspicious, so You-Know-Who might've transfigured the grandparents' remains into something innocuous and disposed of them. Tommy as well. You-Know-Who didn't even allow any Death Eater to serve as an official second-in-command to him. There's no way he'd allow a biological heir to live, especially once he'd confirmed the boy was a wizard too.

I brushed a coating of dust off the backside of my jeans with a sigh then stretched my cramped back. I winced when I stretched a little too far and aggravated my injured shoulder. Hopefully I could get back to Hogwarts soon and get it fixed. It would be amazing to take a hot shower as well before picking up Char at Headquarters. I glanced at my watch and was startled to see midnight had already come and gone. I'd spent hours reading the contents of Edith's file, but I strongly believed it'd been worth it. I now felt much more prepared to face Tommy again and fulfil my promise of reuniting him with his mother. All I needed was to quickly locate the hospital's burial grounds.

I left the records room, locking it behind me to keep some measure of privacy for the poor, wretched lives described therein. The floor-plan map showed I wasn't far from a stairwell that would bring me outside much more quickly than walking back the whole way I'd come from the administration building. Going on foot seemed like the best way at the moment. I didn't know how overgrown the graveyard area was going to be and didn't want to end up Apparating into a tree.

The stairway was easy enough to find. I passed a row of seclusion rooms on the way, their thick white doors all standing open in a line, each with a miniscule window the size of my hand at eyelevel for peering in at patients. I wondered if it had been in one of those rooms where Edith had been murdered. I took the concrete stairs down carefully to the ground floor. Water had seeped in through the leaky roof for years, causing the concrete to crack and crumble. Patches of black ice coated several stairs now. I was grateful for my mage-lights because without them, I'm fairly sure I would have slipped and broken my neck.

I dissolved the magic lights once I stepped back outside into the bitterly cold night. The moon had risen higher and was illuminating the grounds decently enough for its slenderness. I discarded the old hospital map I'd found and pulled out Professor Dumbledore's map again instead. I located the little dot representing my current location at a back corner of the building attached to the administration offices. According to this, the burial plots were a quarter mile to the east, past several more patient wards and the hospital's laundry and sewage pump houses. I thought it was an unfortunate use of geography to lay these patients to rest, people who'd been sent away to be forgotten about, near disposals for dirty wash water and human refuse. The graves weren't even very close to the hospital's chapel. It was really like the deceased patients had just been cast away wherever it was convenient and out of sight.

With the map in hand, I jogged down a weedy, gravel road while checking my position every few minutes. I had to finish all of this soon. It didn't take me long to find them, but I would've completely missed the graves had I not been able to reference my own position on the map so exactly. What I'd taken for an overgrown field initially turned out to be the place I was looking for. I'd been expecting it to look like a more traditional graveyard, with headstones and crosses, but it was far simpler than that. Hidden amongst dead grass and dried thistles standing high as my waist were small stone obelisks of almost the same height that marked the plots out into a grid. According to Edith's records, her body was buried in plot 15-J, but there was no way I'd be able to find it with the grounds in such a state. I concentrated on a spell Professor Sprout liked to use when weeding her vegetable patches, expanding it to include all organic plant matter. I stretched out my arm and waved my wand across my body as far as I could reach to each side. In the direct path of my magic and for thirty feet in front of it, grass and nettles vanished to reveal hard packed earth with marker stones scattered throughout. I continued with the spell until the entire burial ground was cleared.

Wind, rain, and snow had weathered some of the information off of the plot markers, but enough remained that I was able to use them to guide myself to where Edith's grave should be. I couldn't pinpoint it, however. I just had to hope knowing the general area would be good enough for Tommy. Before I left, I grew a wreath of white lilies on the ground to mark the spot and charmed them to resist the frost. My investigation completed, it was now time to return to Tommy and undo the Dark Lord's evil that kept him chained to this earth.

I Disapparated to appear a hundred feet before the place where Tommy's defenses began. I didn't want to startle him into attacking me by accident if I appeared too close. The woods ahead of me where completely dark. I wondered if Tommy simply went into a kind of hibernation when his area wasn't being threatened. Picking my way forward through the dense underbrush once more, I called out to Tommy that I was on my way back. After a couple yells of his name, I saw a flicker of faint light ahead, as if Tommy had indeed just been woken up. As I grew closer, I was able to make out his little form bouncing from one foot to the other impatiently.

"Did you find her? Did you find my mum?" he demanded eagerly once I was only a dozen paces away, as impatient as any living child.

"I did," I replied. The little boy's anxious face broke into a wide smile of joy. I quickly added, before his hopes could rise up too high, "But I have some sad news, Tommy. I'm so sorry, but your mum died a long time ago. She's buried very near here."

I could tell Tommy was disappointed, but he wasn't crushed like I'd feared he'd be. His shoulders merely slumped a little.

"It's ok. I thought she might be dead. I had some time to think while you were gone. I haven't thought in a very long time, so I'd forgotten. I'd forgotten that the Bad Man got Grandmother and Grandfather too, before he got me. They're dead, and so am I. Dead means you go away. I never saw Grandmother and Grandfather again, and I got lost, so we must be dead. Maybe the Bad Man made my mum dead too."

"I think he did," I said gently. I didn't want to press, but I felt I needed these last couple details to prove my theory was right. So I asked, "What did the Bad Man look like?"

Tommy shivered for a moment like he was finally feeling the cold December air. His image blurred and distorted with his shudders before returning to full strength. He whispered, "He was scary. He was tall, thin and white like a bone. His face was all flat like a snake, and he had red eyes that glowed in the night."

"Did he say anything to you? Did he tell you who he was?"

"No. He didn't say a word. He had a wand like yours, but he didn't use it for helping. He used it to make Grandmother and Grandfather hurt until they told him where mum was, at the hospital. Then he made them dead with a bright green light. He made me hurt too, but then there was nothing for a long time until I woke up here in the forest. The Bad Man never came back."

I nodded slowly. At least Tommy never seemed to guess that it had been his own father who'd killed him in cold blood. Thank goodness for tiny miracles. I didn't think it was very farfetched to believe Tommy might have completed his transformation into a Revenant if he'd spent decades being tortured by that information. I didn't know what to say to him. I decided all I could do was try and keep my promise to him and set him free.

"I can take you to go see where your mom is, Tommy, but first we need to get you out of this horrible bubble you're stuck in. Do you trust me enough to help me get you out now?" I was relieved when Tommy nodded, even more so when he gave me permission to take out my wand so I could start trying to dismantle the barrier. I told him to stand back a little while I worked. He said he wanted to help, but I needed to figure out exactly what we were up against before I let him try anything. His screams of pain from when he'd ricocheted off the spell wall were still fresh in my ears.

Slowly and carefully, I prodded the spell barrier with the tip of my wand. As if it were truly made out of pure electricity, no shocking energy traveled up through the wood to burn me. In fact, the woven threads of magic actually gave a tiny bit as I pressed my wand into them more forcefully. It felt sort of like a fine mesh net that was stretched taught. I narrowed my eyes and pulled all my magic up from the soles of my feet and down from the top of my head to flow through my left arm and into my wand. Harder and harder, I pushed into it. My wand tip began glowing like a miniature torch had been lit on it. I started to be able to actually smell a rank stench like something old and damp was burning. Bracing my feet and turning slightly to lean my entire weight into my left arm to relieve some of the pressure making my injured right-side ache, I forced all of my physical and mental will against the dimpled barrier.

Finally, with a crack like a thick tree branch snapping in half, my wand breached the spell. I stumbled slightly but was able to catch my balance before I fell face-first into the rest of the barrier. I'd been slightly hoping once I got inside, even a tiny bit, the spell would shatter, but it looked like You-Know-Who hadn't been messing around when he'd set this thing up. At least Tommy seemed impressed by my small victory. When he saw my wand cross through, he whooped and jumped up and down with his fists in the air.

"You did it, Avrille! You did it!" he cried, spinning in joyful circles.

"I did something," I admitted, not wanting to get too excited just yet. The area all around my wand was still intact. I could move it in a small circle, but that was it. The spell clung to my wand like a sticky spider web. A slight fear gripped me that maybe I wouldn't be able to pull my wand back out again.

Pushing that concern aside, I said to Tommy, who had stopped spinning and was staring at me with gleeful expectation, "I want you to try something for me Tommy, if you can be extra brave for a minute. The wall holding you in is still very strong, but I think my wand isn't affected by it. I don't feel the wall's power at all while I'm holding it. I think this might mean you could hold my wand too, on your end. Could you try that for me?"

Tommy really didn't seem to like this idea since he was understandably so scared of wands in general, but I think he could tell I didn't have any choice but to ask.

"I … I can try." He walked toward me gingerly, one hesitant step at a time. When he was in arm's reach of the end of my wand, he stretched out an index finger while standing on tiptoe to keep the rest of his body as far away as he possibly could. With his face screwed up in both concentration and apprehension, Tommy brought the very tip of his finger into contact with the wood. When he wasn't sent sprawling away in a shock of pain, the widest grin yet crinkled his eyes and nose.

"Look, Avrille! I can touch it! It doesn't hurt! Your wand doesn't hurt!" He stepped forward to wrap his entire hand around the thin wooden shaft. Our hands were now only an inch apart.

"That's great!" I exclaimed. It really was great. I knew I probably didn't have a chance to break through to him without his help, and I didn't know how in the world he was going to be able to "push from the inside" like he'd said previously if he couldn't even make contact with the barrier. Now we might have a decent chance.

I explained to Tommy what I thought we should do. Since the spell dome didn't evaporate the moment I broke through it, it made me change my impression of how it was constructed. At first I'd thought it was sort of like an overturned glass bowl that had been dropped over the area. Now I suspected it was more complicated than that, that it was actually being continuously projected and regenerated from a point inside. I hated to admit it, but it was kind of brilliant of You-Know-Who, actually. A person, that is, only a wizard in _his_ mind, would take the barrier at face value and assume it needed to be destroyed to reach whatever lay inside. To destroy it, they would need to get close to it. They couldn't get close to it because of You-Know-Who's manipulation of Tommy's ghost. That way You-Know-Who's secret remained doubly safe since the only way to the secret was actually _through_ the barrier, which couldn't be approached at all. I wondered if Professor Dumbledore failed because You-Know-Who was trying to keep him out specifically, like he'd said, or was it actually because of coincidence. Tommy was the key to the puzzle, and Tommy feared any man performing magic (and apparently any who reminded him of his grandfather, who must've not warmed to the boy since he was a daily reminder of his daughter's shame). Maybe we'd never know.

I didn't want to risk testing this theory of how the barrier might be constantly renewing itself by removing my wand and seeing if the hole closed. I didn't know if I had the strength to break through again. Instead, I was going to continue with the assumption that instead of doing the magical equivalent of smashing it to pieces with a sledgehammer, I needed to slip inside and deactivate the source of the spell itself. If I was right, Tommy would be free. If I was wrong, I risked becoming trapped like he was. This was a small risk I had to take. Professor Dumbledore was counting on me to get inside, and it's not like I'd be left here for eternity if I was proved wrong. The headmaster would certainly come investigating if I wasn't back by tomorrow, and we'd figure something out together.

So, I told Tommy I was going to need his help pulling me inside. He seemed very scared when I said this, since it was the opposite of what we were supposed to be doing. I reassured him that this was the only way we were going to get him back to his mom. Finally he nodded and agreed to help from his end. I had him grab hold of my wand with both of his small hands and placed both of mine on the grip. Then I told Tommy to focus on two things: first, his trust in me that we were going to beat this thing and second, creating a reversal of the expulsion spell he'd shot at me when I first arrived here. Basically, I wanted him to suck me inside like a vacuum.

I'm relieved to report it worked. The barrier resisted our efforts at first, and I thought I'd end up smushed against it like a bird who flew into a window and stuck there. But we persisted, Tommy digging his heels into the ground and pulling with all his might, me pushing my left shoulder into the painfully tingling wall like I was trying to force a stuck door open. Having my entire body in contact with the Dark Lord's repulsive magic was nearly unbearable. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and thought of everything he would've despised. I thought of Edith having had the chance to hold her son, her fair head thrown back in joy as she spun him around in her arms. I thought of my own son, most likely curled up peacefully like a kitten while Molly watched over him. But mainly I thought of Severus. I thought of the way he smiled only for me and Char and the intensity that always burned in his grey eyes when he looked at me. I thought of how his body felt against mine, warm and protective, as we slept through each night together. I thought of how much I loved him and how much his life might depend on my success tonight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of setting my will against the hate of the most depraved wizard ever born, it was over. I slid through the barrier like my wand had and fell onto my face for the second time that night. I didn't mind in the slightest. With freezing, gritty humus pressed against my cheek, I raised my eyes to see a pair of black and white legs right in front of me. These instantly switched to a pair of upside down eyes as Tommy leaned down over me.

"Are you ok?" he asked worriedly. I burst out with a laugh in relief, scattering bits of dead leaf away from my mouth.

"I'm fine," I said and got myself unsteadily to my feet. My entire body was tingling like I'd been struck by lightning, but I seemed unharmed. I gasped in shock as Tommy ran at me and hugged me around my legs. It felt as if I'd just had a frozen wave crash into me at waist-height.

"I'm sorry!" he said, jumping back and thinking he'd hurt me.

"No! No! It's ok!" I insisted and knelt down to hug him back. It was the weirdest feeling. It was like hugging a statue carved out of ice that was nevertheless half permeable. I pulled away from him before my teeth started to chatter.

"Let's end this," I said. Tommy nodded. "You've been protecting something this whole time, haven't you? Can you bring me to see it now?" He nodded again then wrapped one of his arctic hands around mine. I allowed him to pull me forward, toward the clearing I'd been trying to reach for hours. Tommy's glow lit up some of the woods around us, but I added a beam from my wand to help light our way. Tommy didn't appear the slightest bit scared of magic now.

A walk of a mere fifty feet brought us to the clearing. I don't know what I'd been expecting after all the trouble it had taken to get here, a hidden shrine with runes carved all over it perhaps. Instead, I found nothing but an old stone well, covered with a lid of thick wood. The night sky was open in a small ring above us. Pinpricks of stars stared down dispassionately. Perhaps the magic cast on the well kept any trees from growing close by it. The lid looked rotted and like it should push away easily, but I found I had to use a bit of complicated magic to remove a charm sealing it shut. I was able to tip the circular top off after that. Tommy sat a little to the side while I worked, his chin resting on knees pulled up to his chest again. I shined my wand down the gaping hole in the ground.

Despite the well having been covered, it was full of old leaves and sticks. The well didn't seem very deep, like it had been half filled in with earth. I think it must've been dried up and abandoned even before the hospital was built. Breathing deeply, I used the same charm I'd performed at the burial grounds to vanish any plant material. Clods of dirt remained airborne for a fraction of a second before they collapsed onto what lay beneath. I gazed down sadly on the Dark Lord's most dangerous, fiercely guarded secret. It wasn't a valuable object, like Professor Dumbledore had thought it would be. It wasn't worth anything, except to a young woman fifty years dead.

It was a skeleton. A heartbreakingly tiny skeleton, curled up on its side and still clothed in the tatters of a shirt, decomposed pants, and split leather oxford shoes. Nothing else of Tommy remained. No soft-looking dark hair. No speckling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. No bright, cheerful smile.

The spirit of Tommy didn't say anything when I made this discovery. He continued to stare at me sadly. Maybe he knew what I'd find all along.

The bones lay too far down for me to reach. The way my feet had felt extra held to the ground since I entered the protected space, like gravity was slightly stronger in here, made me almost certain I wouldn't be able to Apparate out if I dropped down to them. Therefore, I conjured one of Char's old baby blankets from Hogsmeade and spread it out over the frozen ground. I almost whispered an apology to the skeleton for disturbing its rest before remembering it was anything but at peace. So with the utmost care and respect, I levitated Tommy's remains out of the well where they'd been discarded like garbage.

I gently laid the bones down on the sky-blue blanket. Pulling the four corners of the blanket up, I knotted them together to keep everything safely contained. When my hand touched one of the brittle bones through the soft cotton, there came a crackling from all around, like the snapping of thin ice when it's walked over. The trees around us seemed to shimmer before a visible sheet of magic fell to the ground and vanished. The spell wall sealing us in had dissolved. Tommy stood up when he noticed and came over as I cradled the angular bundle in my arms.

"It's gone!" he said. "I can go anywhere now!"

"You sure can," I said solemnly.

"But I only want to go see my mum. Will you … will you bring _me_ there?" he asked. I could tell he meant his physical remains, not just his spirit.

"Of course. Let's go bring you back to her."

Tommy and I turned and walked away from the grove where he'd been held captive for nearly forty years. Neither one of us spared it a backwards glance. The bones in my arms barely seemed to weigh a thing. The glowing spirit walked beside me. Branches and creepers made way for us with a simple pointing of one of Tommy's translucent fingers. The forest growth sprang back after we'd passed, leaving no sign that it had ever been disturbed.

With Tommy's help, we emerged from the forest in no time at all. Bathed in the silver light of the moon directly overheard, we crossed the hospital grounds silently until we stood in the area where I'd determined Edith must be buried. Tommy went to stand by the lilies I'd laid on the ground.

"She's actually here," he said, pointing to a spot ten feet to the left of the flowers.

"Ok," I said. I placed the bundle carefully on the ground and removed my wand. Tommy directed me where to dig. With a shovel, the frozen-solid ground would've made such digging impossible, but fortunately magic was sharper and stronger than any Muggle tool. He had me slow my spell when the hole was several feet deep. Directing the earth away gently with a final wand sweep, I uncovered a rotten pine-wood box.

"You don't have to open it," Tommy said. I breathed a sigh of relief. I don't know what it was about the situations I found myself in since my magic returned to me. I wish I knew why they all seemed to revolve around death and graves.

"I just want to go down there too, so I can be close to her," he explained. I levitated the blue burial shroud down into the hole until it dropped with a barely audible thump onto the decayed coffin. Tommy told me it was time to fill the hole back up. He didn't want to stay much longer. I redistributed the dug earth perfectly so that no mound remained to indicate anything had been added to the grave. As an extra precautionary measure, I pressed the tip of my wand an inch into the ground to stimulate the roots of the grass and thistles I'd shorn away. A Rapid-Regrowth Charm would see to it the plots would appear as abandoned as they had earlier this evening, within a day or two.

When I was done, I stood back up and faced Tommy. I had no idea what would happen now. My hope was that his spirit would somehow dissolve once his remains were reunited with his mother's, but he still looked remarkably solid.

As if reading my mind, Tommy smiled and said, "Don't worry, I'm not lost anymore. I can see the way home easily now!" He pointed straight up into the sky, almost right at the moon. "I just wanted to stay for a minute to say thank you.

"Thank you, Avrille, for finding me and bringing me back to my mum. I'm going to go be with her now. I can hear her calling me, but there's something I have to do first."

"What's that?" I asked.

Tommy didn't reply but gestured for me to kneel down. I obeyed, so we were almost face to face. He placed two icy hands on my cheeks and brought his eyes very close to mine. Staring into the depths of his black irises and pupils, I felt like I was locking eyes with the Grim Reaper himself. There was nothing sinister about it, there was simply nothing there at all. I've never felt so completely insignificant before. It was like for a split-second, the entire universe was focusing directly on me with curiosity. Just when I thought I couldn't stand the sensation any longer, Tommy released me and stepped back. I remained kneeling with cold dirt and stones digging into my knees. I seemed completely fine, nothing felt wrong, but I somehow knew I was changed.

"That's my gift to you, because you helped me," Tommy said. "I hope it helps you too." He smiled enigmatically at my obvious confusion.

"What did you do?" I asked quietly.

Tommy's impish smile grew wider.

"You will see," he replied simply then flickered and blinked out of existence. From all around me, I heard the tinkling peals of a young boy's gleeful laughter for a few seconds, before that also dissolved to nothing. The stars twinkled above as if laughing too.

Author's Note:_ While researching British psychiatric hospitals for this part of the story, I discovered Severalls Hospital, an abandoned asylum in Essex. The name of the place obviously attracted my attention, as well as the photographs of the sprawling, decayed buildings. While Wren Hill Asylum is a completely fictional place, some of the descriptions were based on photographs of Severalls. If you're curious, you can search for photos of the hospital online. ~Renny_


	18. Chapter Eighteen: SEVERUS

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

_Severus_

The Dark Lord's instructions regarding Carrington were exact and non-negotiable.

Carrington was not to be given a wand. If he asked for one, he was to be told the Dark Lord himself was attempting to reclaim his old wand from the Ministry's evidence rooms. This was a lie since all wands belonging to Death Eaters sent to Azkaban were categorically destroyed following their convictions. Now freed, those whom the Dark Lord trusted were being fashioned new ones at that very moment by an undisclosed source and most likely anonymously for a large sum of money.

Carrington was to have absolutely no contact with anyone besides Selwyn and me. I would have preferred to be given sole custody, but both the Dark Lord and I knew this would prove problematic once the new term at Hogwarts started. With the return of the students, my time would be much more inflexible and my movements more closely watched by the Ministry. Therefore, I was commanded to bring Selwyn to Greyadder House in a few days to acquaint him with the workings of the protective spells around the property. At least I couldn't have asked for a better fellow guard for Carrington than Selwyn. The fear occupying the forefront of my mind was that Carrington would somehow learn of Avrille's past. The men who had tried to kidnap her to give to the Dark Lord when she was a child had been acting of their own volition, so their failure had meant the Dark Lord never actually found out about Avrille's extraordinary powers. If Carrington made the connection and reported it, all of the work I'd put into making Avrille appear unworthy of the Dark Lord's direct attention would be for naught. Therefore, I was relieved that the only other Death Eater who could potentially spill any clues about my family to Carrington was a man who did not want his own family too closely investigated. My inadvertent discovery of Selwyn's Muggle-born wife was already having its uses.

The Dark Lord had not stipulated for how long Carrington was to remain sequestered from the rest of the Death Eaters. Assumedly, he needed time to subtly interrogate the other prisoners to determine how loyal Carrington actually was. Should Carrington complain about this isolation, I was instructed to feed him the story that the Ministry was close on his tail, and he was being kept hidden for his own safety until the Dark Lord could move freely in the open once more. The wards on the property were for his protection, not for his confinement.

Finally, under no circumstance was I to discuss with Carrington any details about current Death Eater assignments or really anything to do with the Death Eaters or the Dark Lord whatsoever. Since we had very little in common now, and we were unlikely to fall into reminiscences of the good old days at Hogwarts, I assumed this meant I would be speaking to Carrington hardly at all. This suited me very well.

The domed shield of night and piercing sickle moon and long since slayed the fragile winter's day when I Apparated at Greyadder House once more, my hand firmly grasping Carrington's upper arm to keep him from being pulled away from me during the Side-Along and ending up who knows where and in who knows how many pieces. A wave of my wand sent the gates sliding open, a charm of mine earlier in the day finally ridding them of the ear-piercing screeching they had been emitting from my poor upkeep of the property. I pulled Carrington through the gap, none too gently since the last thing I needed was for him to escape and threaten the little ground with the Dark Lord I had gained. I suppose the force had been rather unnecessary. At the moment Carrington had no reason to believe he was anything but a guest staying in my home until the initial flurry of search following his prison break had passed. It would probably be at least a week or so yet until he fully appreciated he had in essence escaped one prison only to fall into another. Not to mention the stress of Azkaban had left him weighing probably at least two stone less than me, and without a wand he was unable to Disapparate or put up any sort of decent fight.

As the gates clanged shut behind us, I finally released Carrington. Fortunately he still seemed only half aware of what was going on around him and didn't protest my slightly rough treatment of him. He smoothed out the tattered arm of his prison robes vaguely as he gazed around in slight wonder.

"I had no idea you were so well off, Severus!" he said, half in amazement and half with a bitter edge of jealousy. His family had certainly not been without means, but his grandfather had earned his family's small fortune only relatively recently. Not having an inherited estate, he had grown up in a comfortable townhouse near Diagon Alley in London. But because of my difficult relationship with my father, I had never invited any of my Slytherin schoolmates to come call at my home during holidays. Therefore, seeing this place for the first time, I could tell Carrington had underestimated my family's previous worth. The ironic part was that it was very likely Carrington's current wealth exceeded my own. Buying both Avrille's extravagant engagement ring and later our house in Hogsmeade, as well as setting up a trust for Char on top of the life insurance I was now paying into, had all together gouged my savings.

"Don't get your hopes up," I replied honestly as I led the way up the gravel path to the house. The fiercest rages of the squall had blown out to sea, but it had left several inches of fresh snow in its wake. I melted the path clear ahead of us as we walked. "It looks much better on the outside. I live year-round at Hogwarts now, and the house is practically empty."

Carrington was able to see this for himself once we'd entered the house and I'd flooded the echoing foyer with light from my wand. I took a moment to peruse this part of the house's interior with a sort of semidetached interest as we crossed it. Because I normally only came into the house at night to sleep when I was here working on the property, I rarely saw by any decent light the actual state of things inside. Years of trying to ignore the fact that I was, in actuality, solely responsible for a not-insubstantial piece of property had made me fail to realise the details in basic maintenance I'd been overlooking. There were no glaring safety hazards, but the house was still uninhabitable at the moment. If I ever did decide to make this our family home someday, I'd have quite the Sisyphean task to undertake.

I brought Carrington downstairs into the undercroft and got him settled as best I could in a small room in the old servants' hall. I explained this choice of location was because the bedrooms upstairs were virtually all empty, the furniture having been sold long ago. I didn't elaborate as to why. This was true, but I was feeling also an instinctual aversion to setting him up in one of my family's old rooms or a guest suite, even though I had no sentimental attachment to any of them myself. I'll freely admit that I felt Carrington's choices and actions in life placed him well below me. Therefore, his lodging "downstairs" seemed the right place for him.

The room I had chosen for Carrington fortunately contained several sets of old robes left abandoned in a wardrobe. They were dusty and decades out of fashion but certainly a vast improvement on what he was currently wearing. They were of a good-weight wool and would keep him warm if the heating spells I cast on this part of the house weren't sufficient on a particularly cold night. Carrington didn't complain about the choice of clothes and silently changed into them as I busied myself in the larder, conjuring food that would be both long-lasting and easy to prepare without the use of magic. I hoped Professor Dumbledore wouldn't mind my raiding of the Hogwarts stores too greatly.

When I figured he'd had long enough to make himself presentable, I returned to the servant's room to find Carrington quietly making up the lumpy bed with a moth-eaten blanket. When he had finished, I discreetly repaired the blanket and added a down layer beneath it. Carrington noticed what I had done after a minute and thanked me without meeting my eye. I could tell it was finally starting to dawn on him that he was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future without even the convenience of magic to make things more comfortable for him.

While I made one final inspection of the undercroft to make sure Carrington had everything he would need to at least make it through the night and the next two days, I set him to write up a short list of whatever else he might need by way of toiletries or more appropriate clothing. I told him I would purchase them for him with the understanding I was to be repaid as soon as he was able to gain access to his Gringotts account. I'm sure a sizable chunk of his inheritance had been taken as reparation to the families of his victims, but hopefully there was enough left for him to compensate me for the trouble I was taking. However, if it took me eating the cost of a few razor blades and bars of soap to keep him from wandering the streets of London a free man, I would gladly pay for that privilege.

I informed Carrington he was more than welcome to make use of whatever things he could find in the house to make his stay more comfortable, such as the library which retained a decent amount of insipid novels left behind after I'd rehoused any book of worth at Hogwarts. What I truly wished was to lock him in his room like a new cell, which was more than he deserved, but I knew the Dark Lord's wish to exert caution with Carrington did not give me free rein to blatantly mistreat him. After perusing his list of required items, which was shorter than I would have expected from a freed convict suddenly able to have whatever his heart desired, I asked him if there was anything else I could get for him.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, all of the back issues of _The Sunday Prophet_ from the last few years. I'll pay you for them. I'd just like to see what's been happening in the world lately," he asked with surprising humility.

"I'll see what I can do," I replied as I shrugged on my cloak once more, preparing to leave. Hopefully with me being in the academic field, such a request at the newspaper office wouldn't be too unusual. I could probably come up with some excuse of working on a new book or the like. "I'll be back in two days with your necessities and to see how you're getting on. If you need to contact me, there's Floo powder in the library. You won't be able to use the Floo to leave the property, since we don't want anyone likewise trying to come here, but it's linked directly to the fireplace in my quarters at Hogwarts. If you call me through it and I'm in the room, I'll hear you. But that is only to be done in an absolute emergency. The school's network is currently being monitored by the Ministry. The last thing we need is for them to start asking questions as to why an escaped Death Eater is speaking to me in my parlour from my own family's house."

Carrington nodded that he understood. I took my leave of him after lighting a fire in the dingy hearth by his bed and making sure there was plenty of dry wood in the box in the hall. Hopefully Carrington would have enough sense to not burn the house down.

It was nearly ten o'clock when I appeared gratefully outside the Hogwarts gates. The entire evening had been like something out of a nightmare brought on by drinking too much firewhisky. Like the post-storm atmosphere in Hampshire, the night sky here was perfectly clear. The biting cold seemed to bend the air like fine crystal and magnify each star to magnificent, glittering proportions. The setting, ivory crescent moon reflected pure white off of the thick layer of snow blanketing the grounds. A green, pink and blue haze, draped through the sky like an ombré silken scarf, hovered in the air behind the castle, a unique borealis often seen around this time of year created by the magically-charged particles in the thermosphere around the school.

I forced my weary limbs to obey me for just a while longer and scale the sloped drive up to the school. I was grateful my position at Hogwarts meant my holidays wouldn't be completely ruined by this inconvenient new turn of events. At least my charge wouldn't be physically present at Christmas like those of the Malfoys and the Selwyns. Avrille's mother, Isadora, was also due to visit us in a week's time for Char's birthday, and I would have hated my complicated situation to be the cause of yet another missed chance for Avrille to spend time with her mother. For a couple years, Avrille and I had kept a briefly lived tradition of visiting her home in Nova Scotia for a couple weeks in the summer. The Dark Lord's return had forced us to cancel this year, as well as put off Isadora coming to us for a while until we found ourselves standing on more stable ground. But hopefully Carrington would behave himself, and a similar thing wouldn't happen this time.

The entrance hall and dungeon corridors were all blissfully empty. I knew it was my duty to report the Death Eaters' escape to Professor Dumbledore immediately, but nothing of worth could be accomplished in the few minutes I wanted to take to ensure Avrille and Char were safe and sound where I'd left them. After all, Professor Dumbledore had predicted a mass outbreak like this the very first night of the Dark Lord's resurrection. All I was doing was confirming it had finally taken place.

Nothing but silence and darkness greeted me when I entered my parlour, though this wasn't particularly surprising. It was very late in the evening after all, and Avrille wasn't expecting me to return home until tomorrow. I thought perhaps my cryptic warning to her earlier might have prompted Avrille to stay up waiting for either me or further information, but I was glad to see she had put herself first and gone to bed with Char.

I set a few candles by the door to burn low and stepped inside, dropping my heavy wool cloak on a hook with a sigh. The meagre light showed the bedroom doors were standing open, so I walked as quietly as I could into the parlour. I didn't want to disturb Avrille with a brighter light. I passed through into the bedroom carefully, successfully managing not to walk into any furniture in the gloom. My eyes had not yet adjusted to the dimness, so I stopped a pace into the bedroom. Avrille and I had finally managed to convince Char to sleep in his own little bed beside ours several times in the past few weeks, and I didn't want to accidentally trip over him in case tonight had been a success as well. Actually, I was hoping he was settled by himself. The disconcerting events of the past few hours had left me eager to hold the length of my wife's body against mine before I fell asleep as well, without having to first separate her from a certain small, black-haired barnacle.

Even though my pupils were slowly dilating to make the most of the far away glow near the front door, I was still unable to discern anything in the bed. I sidestepped the perimeter with care until I was at the bathroom. Ensuring the bathroom door was mostly closed, I set those candles to light, casting a slanted beam of brightness across the forest-green carpet of the bedroom. The light revealed no cot resting on the floor, so my stealthy manoeuvring had been unnecessary. However, when I crept back towards the bed, I discovered all of my precautions since I entered my rooms had been for naught.

The bed was fully made and completely empty.

_Hmm_ … I thought to myself. I waved all of the candles in both rooms of my apartment alight to reveal that I was in fact completely alone. I wasn't exceptionally concerned. The fact that my Patronus had not returned to me meant that Avrille _had_ received my warning to stay in the castle. Now that I thought about it, it was likely she was with Professor Dumbledore in his office. Granted, it was late for Char to be up and about, but not knowing the reason for my message to her, maybe she felt more secure being with the headmaster. He also might have had some work for her to complete, what with all the turmoil surrounding Arthur Weasley's recent attack at the Ministry.

I had to report in to Professor Dumbledore anyway, so I put off changing out of my soil-smeared clothing for a few more minutes and made my way back up to the Entrance Hall. My limbs felt even more leaden after dragging them up the seven flights of stairs to the headmaster's office. The castle's customary Christmas decorations, which I normally was forced to admit gave a pleasantly festive air to the ancient place, now simply made the climb more onerous. I wasn't able to allow the stairs' balustrades to support any of my weight since the stone railings had all been wrapped with innumerable garlands of holly and tinsel. I don't know who the clever person was who'd decided Christmas would be more enjoyable by the risk of having your hand stabbed repeatedly each time you ascended to another floor.

It was with great relief that I left the stairs behind and walked down the dead-end corridor to where the hidden entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office was located. However, my enjoyment of the respite immediately cooled to wariness when upon speaking the password of "Fizzing Whizzbee" to the massive stone gargoyle who stood there, it offered me a grinding headshake instead of instantly leaping aside. The gargoyle knew to grant me admittance to the headmaster at all times, even when he was asleep. Sometimes, if Professor Dumbledore was off in another part of the castle, I would find the oak door at the top of the revolving stairs locked, but the only time I was ever barred from the stairs themselves was when he was away from the school.

I didn't know if Avrille could possibly still be up there with Char, so I asked the gargoyle, unsure if it was even capable of answering, "Is there anyone else up there?" The statue did reply, though again with a scrape of its head sideways across its stone neck.

I stood dumbly in place, unsure of what to do next. Professor Dumbledore had made it clear to all members of the Order that he was not to be contacted by a Patronus when away from the school unless it was a dire emergency. Like me, he couldn't always be sure he wouldn't be in mixed company that shouldn't be privy to an Order message. I was finally growing a bit worried I couldn't locate Avrille and Char, but it certainly wasn't a case of emergency yet. I _could_ send Avrille another Patronus, but I also did not like to use that means of communication often. As far as I knew, I was the only Death Eater who possessed the ability to produce that charm, and I didn't like that ability to be advertised. It was unlikely Avrille was with someone like Narcissa Malfoy, but I still didn't want to risk it. I also knew Avrille was self-conscious of her own extra-powerful Patronus and almost never used it for communication herself.

My search wasn't completely stymied yet. There were still several places she and Char could be. I liked to think Avrille would take my word as law when it came to something like an order to stay in the castle, but I knew from past experience she might put the needs of someone else before hers if she believed them to need help more. Perhaps something had come up with Lavinia and her baby again. That was almost all I could think of. There didn't seem to be anywhere else in the school she'd be with Char so late.

Conjuring my cloak over my shoulders once more, I left the castle and headed back out into the freezing winter night. I walked briskly down the slippery iced drive with legs aching and heart hammering. It seemed an unnecessarily long time before I was through the gates yet again and able to Disapparate. But within a few seconds of my Apparation in Hogsmeade, I knew this guess was another miss. Lavinia's cottage was completely dark and shut up tight. Either the family was already all asleep, or they were out somewhere, like with Henry's family celebrating the season. I didn't want to alarm Lavinia by potentially rousing her from her bed to ask if she knew where my missing wife and son were, so I wrapped my cloak around me tightly and turned on the spot again. There was still one last place I could check before I allowed myself to start panicking.

The atmosphere of the dirty square of Grimmauld Place had nothing of the quiet, festive charm of the wizarding village I'd just left. The residents of a townhouse two doors down from Headquarters appeared to care not a fig that it was eleven o'clock at night. Apparently it being the day before Christmas Eve and a Saturday night to boot gave them full carte blanche to be throwing a raucous party, including blaringly loud music, flashing lights, and one or two revellers vomiting their guts out in the gutter. Even though I knew they couldn't see me on the protected stoop, I couldn't help glaring disdainfully at the degenerates as I let myself silently into number twelve. How wonderful it must be for you, dear Muggles, to possess such blissful ignorance of the fact that ten convicts had just broken free who would suffer more remorse killing a rat in the street than snuffing out your non-magical lives.

Avrille and Char had to be here. There was nowhere else for them to be. _Nowhere else that is safe_, an unbidden voice in my mind amended. I tried to brush that voice away, but once acknowledged, it wasn't so easy to be rid of. It slithered down from my thoughts to lump itself as a cold ball of lead in my stomach instead. There had been nothing during my encounter with the Dark Lord this evening to suggest Avrille and Char were in any more danger than usual. As always, I'd played my part well. But I couldn't shake the recollections of other families in the past who had disappeared after angering the Dark Lord in some way, sometimes without knowing they'd erred at all. It had happened more than a few times that a servant of the Dark Lord would return home to find everyone else simply gone, never to be seen alive again. Perhaps if the servant sufficiently repented, he might be given knowledge of where the bodies had been left.

I tried to remind myself that scenario didn't seem likely in my case, given my incredibly vital post at Hogwarts. When the Dark Lord had first returned, it was my fear he would kill all of us should my deception ever be discovered. Now that months had passed and my status within the Death Eaters had only grown, I'd come to the conclusion that it was far more probable my family would end up as hostages if that situation arose. I was too valuable to the Dark Lord as a spy at the school. An unwilling spy who nevertheless continued to perform under threat of his family's murder would still serve the Dark Lord better than a dead one. But truly … the odds of that happening _had_ to be slim. At the risk of sounding immodest, I was simply too good at playing the Death Eater game.

I paused on the threshold of the hall after closing the front door behind me and listened. The sound of voices coming from the kitchen raised my hopes slightly. It sounded like at least several people were down there, though the thick stone separating me from them made it impossible to guess who it was. The hallway was brightly lit despite the late hour. I was able to see clearly that Black had finally been forced to do some actual work for a change since the hall no longer resembled a decaying mortuary. The finer details of Black's astounding accomplishment of tidying a few rooms in a mere six months went unnoticed by me as I hurried down the tunnelled stairway into the subterranean kitchen.

My buoyed hopes sank yet again when I was met by the sight of only Molly, Black, and Lupin sitting around the kitchen table, apparently just finishing up a late meal. There were no additional place settings out besides the three tarnished silver plates covered with bread crusts and the remains of some brownish stew. Black sneered at me when our eyes met. Lupin at least nodded cordially. Molly looked over her shoulder at me in surprise as I stood frozen in the stairway.

"What do you want, Snape?" Black asked coolly. He was slouched down in his chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and resting a bottle of lager on his stomach with his right hand.

I ignored him and turned to Molly instead, asking, "Have you seen Professor Dumbledore?"

"No, not since yesterday evening. He came by to ask after Arthur," she replied. I knew I should offer some sort of condolences to her for her husband's condition, but I didn't have time to spout kind words when my own family could be in danger.

"Do you know where he is now?" I asked.

"I have no idea," Molly replied, shaking her head apologetically. A curl of silvery-red hair escaped her dishevelled knot with the movement, coming to rest on the shoulder of a cardigan knitted out of scratchy-looking brown wool. I saw her eyebrows raise as she glanced over my mussed and stained clothing. I'd never presented myself at Headquarters in such a state before.

"Dumbledore isn't at the school? Is something wrong?" Lupin asked me, the scars on his face creased further in concern. I suppose it was obvious from my tone and dishevelled appearance that I was disquieted, another state I tried my utmost to avoid being seen in, by him and his best mate in particular. Disregarding him as well, I continued to face Molly.

"And Avrille isn't here either, is she?" I demanded of her, already knowing the answer. Nevertheless, I dug the fingernails of one hand into the mortar of the stone wall's sharp corner in anticipation.

"Well … no," Molly said hesitantly and as though it should be obvious, but I had already turned and started to stalk up the stairs before the words had fully left her mouth. I was infuriated. How could two of the most powerful members in the Order be unaccounted for without anyone at Headquarters knowing where they were?

My anger only boiled hotter as I heard Black snort disdainfully, "What's _his_ problem?" as I climbed away from him.

Just as I reached the ground floor landing, I half-noted Molly call after me, "Severus, wait!" I barely heard her. The previous fear had swept back over me and clouded my mind, the fear that Avrille and Char had somehow been snatched while I'd been playing the dutiful servant at the Riddle Estate. All of the Death Eaters I was aware of had been there with me, but it wasn't unthinkable there might be others, unknown to the rest of us like there had been years ago. What if the Dark Lord had decided his spy needed a spy of his own? What if someone had been watching me this whole time, silently laughing as I searched fruitlessly for my wife and son? What if I had led a follower straight to Headquarters inadvertently? The Fidelius Charm kept the building itself hidden, but I was sure the Dark Lord would be very interested to hear the general location of it. I paused, my hand already having pulled the front door open a crack by its polished silver handle before the thought crossed my mind. If I opened the door the rest of the way, would I see a pair of red eyes gleaming at me in the night?

A hand on my shoulder made me start. I turned to see Molly had dashed up the stairs after me. She moved her hand to clasp the edges of her old cardigan together over her heart against the shrill draught dashing through the cracked door. I pushed the door shut again silently, keeping in mind the insane portrait of Black's mother was only a few feet away from us.

"What is it?" I assumed Molly needed me to pass on some message about Arthur to the headmaster when I found him.

Instead, Molly asked in a hushed voice, "Aren't you here for Char?"

"What? What are you talking about?" I replied brusquely. My heart was still racing somewhat from the thought of the Dark Lord himself waiting just outside, ready to brutally chastise me for my faithlessness.

I didn't even really process what she'd said until she repeated, "Char. Aren't you going to take him back with you?"

"Wait … you mean Char is _here_?" I asked, stunned. In another situation, both Molly's face and mine probably would have appeared comical. I don't know whose was displaying more confusion.

"Yes, he's upstairs asleep," Molly replied. She studied my stunned face for a moment before saying with quiet kindness, "You have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you? I wasn't sure if you knew or not, but it's obvious you didn't."

"Know _what_?" I hissed. "Where is Avrille? What's going on?" I had the urge to grab Molly by her knobbly wool arms and shake the answer from her, but I held in the mad whim and continued comporting myself with some measure of dignity. Molly must have felt my nearly violent frustration anyway, for she took an unintentional step back from me.

"Avrille left Char here earlier this evening. She wouldn't tell me where she was going or what she was doing, only that it was on Dumbledore's orders and a task of great importance. She hoped to be back before morning."

I shook my head in utter disbelief then ran a hand through my hair to keep it out of my eyes as I stared vacantly at a flickering gaslight. Watching the tail of flame dance its orange glow off of the dark wallpaper brought a reassuring thought to mind.

"So that must be where Professor Dumbledore is as well! They're together?" I asked Molly, taking a step towards her eagerly. She shook her head sadly at my hopeful expression.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but I don't they are. Avrille made it sound like wherever she was going, she was going alone. She said it was something no one else could do, not even Dumbledore himself." She flicked her brown eyes over towards the basement stairs as she whispered this. Apparently the secret was so great, she didn't even want Black and Lupin to overhear accidentally.

I balled my fists as my fury returned in full-force. I wasn't sure who I was more enraged at: Professor Dumbledore for having the gall to send Avrille on some mission without even _informing_ me of it, or Avrille for breaking her promise to me to stay out of dangerous Order business. Not to mention it appeared she'd been planning all of this purposefully behind my back for some time. It couldn't be a coincidence that she needed to go off on some random mission the one night I was away from the castle myself.

However, Molly was spared becoming a subject of my ire; it appeared she was practically as unaware as I was. Normally never appearing at Headquarters as anything but completely cool and composed, Molly must have been able to easily read the breadth of betrayal I was feeling from my posture alone. My muscles had all tensed against my will at her words, and I couldn't make them relax again. The skin of my face felt hot. I was mortified at the thought of my hurt and anger reading plainly across it. Molly placed a hand gently on my shoulder again. I appreciated the gesture, but it simply made me feel ashamed my emotions were so obviously visible. At least Lupin and Black were staying downstairs.

"Do you want to try and go look for her?" Molly suggested.

"No," I replied bitterly, turning my head away so I didn't have to look her in the eye. "As a fellow member of the Order, it wouldn't be right for me to interfere with Professor Dumbledore's _plans_. Avrille's made her choice. There's nothing to be done until she returns." I crossed my arms as a subtle indication I'd rather not be touched. Molly took the hint and dropped her hand to her side.

"You look exhausted," she said, studying me in that way only mothers of sons can.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"It's no problem at all for Char to stay here for the rest of the night. If you want to go back to the castle and get some sleep then come back for him in the—"

"—Bring me to my son, Molly," I cut in fiercely. I shook my head and muttered an apology. I hadn't meant to lash out at her. I just wouldn't be able to rest until both Avrille and Char were back safely inside the castle with me. Molly didn't seem to take any offense. She just nodded and patted me on the arm again briefly. She turned towards the stairs and gestured for me to follow.

She led me quietly up the stairs. We passed several closed doors where her own younger children and Potter were no doubt sleeping peacefully. I wondered if any of them were able to comprehend how dangerous the world was truly becoming. The Weasleys' father had just nearly lost his life, but he was well on the road to recovery. No harm done in their innocent little minds. Most likely they were already back to planning new ways to disrupt Umbridge's increasing influence at Hogwarts when the new term started, delightfully unaware that something far worse than the banning of Quidditch team members had occurred while they were eating their dinner. Would the fact that ten high security prisoners had easily escaped the Ministry's control make them give the Dark Lord a little more of the fear and respect he was due? Probably not. No doubt Potter and his companions would be planning ways to bring the escaped Death Eaters to justice in their next "secret" Defence Against the Dark Arts meeting.

Molly brought me to an open door halfway down a hall on the first floor. She waved her wand at the empty space in the doorframe, explaining in a whisper how she'd charmed a barrier to keep Char from wandering the house should he wake up. I appreciated her forethought, but it had appeared to be unnecessary. Light cast from the hallway into the bedroom showed Char sprawled out completely dead to the world in the middle of a large bed. An empty, shabby carpet bag resting on the floor next to an armchair draped with homely robes made me guess this was where Molly herself was staying while her husband was in hospital. Molly pointed to Char's own bag, leaning against a bedside table. I rummaged in it for a moment until I pulled out Char's warm coat then sent the bag back to my rooms at Hogwarts with a wand flick.

Char woke up slightly as I gathered him into my arms. His head lolled like a doll's as I threaded sleep-heavy limbs through the arms of his coat. I stood with him bundled in my arms, guiding him to rest his cheek on my shoulder. Soft, even breaths near my ear told me he was already once more fast asleep. His comforting weight and warmth was like an opiate, sending sweet relief flowing through me for the first time since I'd walked into the kitchen downstairs. At least Char was safe. As for his mother … I just couldn't dwell on it at the moment or I would lose my mind.

Back downstairs, I wrapped my cloak around Char as Molly made to open the door for us. I gripped the edges of the soft wool tighter as a gust of winter chill tried to snatch them from my fingers. I thanked Molly as I stepped past her to stand on the doorstep, hoping she understood it was not just for her courtesy. Despite the most likely poor decisions Avrille had made, I was still grateful Molly had kept our son safe for us tonight. Molly smiled and said to think nothing of it.

She said goodnight and started to close the door, but I placed a hand on the black paint to stop her. In the dim, flickering light of the street lamps, Molly looked ageless. It was not difficult to make out the young woman I had met fifteen years ago beneath the greying hair and the lines of joy and worry that motherhood seven times over had left on her face. Her eyes were still exactly the same, the ones that crinkled from a gentle smile now but had once been opened wide with horror as the bloody, lifeless bodies of her twin brothers were laid down at her feet.

"Until Professor Dumbledore comes again, try to stay at Headquarters when you're not at St. Mungo's," I told her quietly, so as to not wake Char. "You'll be safer that way."

Molly's freckled brow wrinkled in confusion. "Has something happened?" Though I wanted to warn her plainly that the men who had murdered her brothers were on the loose, I knew I should speak to the headmaster first. He'd know best how to break the news to everyone. Not to mention I didn't want to see any anger or disgust in Molly's face when she was told I was fostering one of the killers at my own house.

So I simply said, "I can't say more, but don't venture out of here unless it's necessary, for now." I also dutifully and grudgingly added, "And keep Potter close at hand." With that, I turned and Disapparated with Char back to Hogwarts.

I was afraid the traveling would wake Char up, but he simply grunted a little in his sleep. Without the presence of another adult to distract me, I finally allowed myself to wallow in the comfort of finding Char safe and sound. I held one small hand in mine to keep it warm from the winter air, his other curled in a little fist against my chest. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, I climbed a hill up to my destination. I was able to walk quickly enough so that by the time I entered the Entrance Hall with Char in my arms, his cheeks hadn't even pinked from the cold.

Knowing I would want Char as close to me as possible in the night, I unbundled him and tucked him into the middle of my own bed once we were back in the dungeons. Watching my son rub the soft cotton of his pillowcase with a hand as he settled, I felt a poisonous dagger of outrage stab me yet again. How could Avrille have done this? How could she have thought _anything_ was more important than watching out for our son? _How_ could she have left him?!

I pushed off from the bed and strode with silent infuriation back into the parlour, the doors to the bedroom shutting behind me. I fell into an armchair in front of a roaring fire I conjured in the hearth. The heat soothed my aching body as it settled over me like a warm blanket, but nothing could act as a balm for my mind. Though I'd been exhausted the first time I'd arrived back at Hogwarts, a vigour sprung from anxiety leant me fresh acuity. As much as I'd wanted to collapse into bed a little while ago, there would be no rest for me until I knew Avrille was safe. Diabolical thoughts brought on by my mental second wind seemed determined to play a stream of endless images before my eyes; images of my wife hurt and sobbing from the pain, of her trapped and unable to use her wand to free herself, of her screaming in agony as she was tortured mercilessly while I sat here enjoying a good blaze …

It took every ounce of effort to pull myself free from the sucking whirlpool of imagining the absolute worst. Instead I reined my mind back to focus only on the moment when Avrille would walk into the parlour. The hands on the clock above the mantelpiece crept ever closer to midnight as I drummed the fingers of one hand on an armrest, my eyes staring blankly at the far side of the room where the door to the dungeons stood firmly shut. I refused to give credence to any near future that did not unfold with my wife returning to me safe and unharmed. I knew I would feel immeasurable relief when she did. What I didn't know was whether or not that relief would be great enough to smother the anger that was burning hotter within me as each passing second ticked away.


End file.
